


Facets I

by OKami_hu, oksammich



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Cunnilingus, Egg Laying, Escort Service, F/M, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Impregnation, M/M, Magic, Other, Quicksand Week, Religious Guilt, Slaves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OKami_hu/pseuds/OKami_hu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/oksammich/pseuds/oksammich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the Lord of Dreams and the Nightmare King on a twisting journey through different dimensions.</p><p>(A series of AU oneshots, with more naughty tags to be added.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clog, Caulk, and Cubes

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series spouted from a conversation in which it was declared that Sandy likes "laying pipe". The following chaos thus ensued.

The repair had been long-coming. Pitch ignored the slowing drain over a few weeks, sometimes stabbing the opening with the handle of a nearby paintbrush when he felt impatient (and sometimes losing said paintbrush to the sudden suction). It was an industrial sink, wasn't it? It was made to deal with abuse, wasn't it? He'd paid quite a bit to have it installed some time ago, when Frost was his bright-eyed muse, and he'd made the investment under the assurance that he wouldn't have to concern himself with clogged pipes.  
   
Then Wednesday came. He was a little drunk, a little weepy, and the sink kept filling up when he rinsed his brushes. It wasn't until murky water spilled over onto the studio floor and his most recent scattered pages of rough drafts, that he finally realized the sink wasn't draining at -all-.  
   
He waited one more day just to be sure, filling chipped cups with water and vigorously swirling his brushes around until they were passably clean. Hunched over the Dream Battle (a true piece of work that spoke directly from his soul, you know), he was content with this set-up until the fourth or fifth time he doused himself in paintwater.  
   
Then he called and his hero came.  
   
A short, fat man, the plumber introduced himself as Sandy. He was oddly cute, with his widely-spaced brown eyes, the gap between his front two teeth, and the unruly blonde hair that peeked out of his worn ballcap. When they shook hands, Pitch was pleasantly surprised to find that Sandy's palm wasn't sweaty at all, and that jazzy, low quality to his voice probably had something to do with the scent of expensive smoke rolling off of his clothes.  
   
Pitch pointed out the sink across the room, waving Sandy's attention away from his rumpled bed and tiny bathroom on the other side. Together, they'd picked over canvases and sketchbooks laid face-up on the ground.  
   
True to his line of work, the pudgy thing showed a fair amount of buttcrack when he crawled underneath the sink. Pitch didn't mind as much as he thought he would. He was more concerned with the mortifying treasure trove Sandy located in the pipes.  
   
The brushes were understandable. So were the sponges and palette knives.  
   
But when he came up with a condom full of red fluid, Pitch felt the color drain from his face. "I-it's.. It's not what you think..."  
   
They looked at each other for a long time before Sandy simply shrugged and tossed the offending latex into the trash.  
   
"It wasn't blood, it was paint."  
   
Blonde head bobbing, his plumber disappeared back under the sink. "Whatever you say."  
   
\----------  
   
The repair went by without anymore embarrassing finds, though Sandy managed to locate one of the detail brushes that Pitch spent a great deal on, only to lose it within moments of removal from its package. As he tended to the tool, Sandy asked if he could smoke.  
   
"Sure," Pitch said as he cracked a window and resumed fussing over his much-loved brushes.  
   
For Sandy's diminutive size, he looked surprisingly mature as he leaned on the window sill and lit up a finely-wrapped cigarillo. Even with the window offering ventilation, the scent of tobacco soon made its way around the room. "That's beautiful," he said suddenly.  
   
"What?"  
   
Sandy took the cigarillo from his lips and held it between two fingers as he exhaled. His eyes were relaxed and soft, a tiny grin on his face. He nodded to the massive canvas on the floor. "This. It's you, isn't it?"  
   
It was hard to deny. The tall, lean male on the canvas wrapped in nothing more than a few strategically placed wisps of black smoke bore a striking resemblance to the artist. The characteristic beak-like nose was the most prominent feature, but the slicked-back hair was quite similar too, as well as the body's built. The figure on the painting had darker, gray skin though and piercing golden eyes.  
   
"Yes," Pitch admitted. "I couldn't find a more suitable model." And at least, he could observe all the details from really close and as long as he needed to. He wanted the painting to be perfect, and without trying to sound too self-assured, he did a damn fine job with it. The shadowy creatures came out exceptionally well, too.  
   
"You'd like a coffee with that?" He pointed out the stick between the plump fingers. He liked the smell of tobacco. At times, he smoked a cigarette or two (sometimes even the more... sweet-smelling variety, to be honest), especially when he was really nervous or upset. It wasn't the best of habits, but it had a certain charm when done right.  
   
"Coffee would be great, thanks." Pitch didn't have far to go to reach his kitchenette, so he was able to get a good look at his guest while he filled the coffee pitcher. Despite the extra weight, Sandy looked rather healthy and strong, and the more his contemplated the painting, smoking with the poise of a shah, the more attractive he became.  
   
"He must really love whoever's going to be on the other half," Sandy concluded with the same certainty as before. As he spoke, the crease in his brow relaxed and he gestured to the canvas' unfinished side with the toe of his shoe. "You can see it in his eyes. He's one of those who lashes out when he feels strongly about anything, right?"  
   
"Depends on what do you mean by 'lashing out," Pitch countered, to gain some time to think. What, what, love, what? He didn't think of that! The Nightmare King and the Lord of Dreams were supposed to be mortal enemies...! Total  opposites, too. Which begged the question where he'll find a model for the dream lord...  
   
Except not.  
   
He had to admit that aside being a sexy-ass guy, Sandy WAS pretty much perfect for the role. Short, bright, deliciously plump, adorable cherubic face... Pitch needed to convince him to help out. Maybe he had some biscuits to go with that coffee.  
   
His little plumber tapped the ashes from his cigarillo, politely dangling his hand outside. "This is going to sound cheesy," he admitted, his round face flushing in embarrassment, "But you know that roses have thorns. They're beautiful, but they'll hurt you if you're careless." Sandy paused to roll his shoulder. "His heart's beautiful. And all this--" Now, he gestured to the curls of dark clouds and the animalistic baring of teeth. "--is just a way for him to keep himself from getting hurt."  
   
He crouched down near the canvas. With one short finger, he dictated a trail from the empty half to the Nightmare King, making a swirling motion in the air. "But he left a spot open here, where the--Dreamlord, right? Yeah.--where the Dreamlord can get one little tendril through if he's careful." Sandy seemed pleased with himself as he looked up. "It's love!"  
   
"I honestly didn't think of that," Pitch admitted. "But on second thought... You're probably right." The Nightmare King was supposed to embody darkness in a man, rage, hatred, all things negative. But... He DID intend for the Dream Lord extending his hands toward his counterpart.  
   
Was the Nightmare king just aggression...? What about sadness, longing? Maybe he didn't enjoy being what he was. Nightmares aren't particularly loved after all... Maybe he was lonely, neglected and aching for a sweet dream of his own... But he would never admit that. He'd bite those hands, because he was bitter, scared and way too proud.  
   
"That's kinda sophisticated, coming from a plumber..." Pitch tilted his head to the side. "I bet you read a lot more than people would think." A little flattery never hurt anybody.  
   
When Sandy looked up at him, his brown eyes were wide and his lips were trembling ever so slightly. "O-oh, no.. It's.."  
   
He rubbed the back of his neck. The little guy looked so adorable then, it took a great deal of self-control not to pinch his cheeks and squeeze him. "I'm strange, I guess. This painting really speaks to me. If I'm wrong, I'm sorry." After a moment, he added: "You're very talented."  
   
“Thank you.." Pitch walked over, eyeing the picture critically. "Oh no, you're not wrong, there might be some attraction... But the Nightmare King is sort of snarky, so the Dreamlord would have to sneak those tendrils through." He snickered a little. "If this goes through well, they'll ask me about the story anyway... If I can finish it, that is." He rubbed his chin. “The dream Lord eludes me. I know what I want, but it's not going to be easy to execute."  
   
"But you have to finish!" Sandy exclaimed, "It's too thoughtful a painting not to finish!"  
   
He waddled to the sink to extinguish his cigarillo, and after depositing it into the trash, he returned to Pitch's side. "Lots of people will like it. You just need to find the right model!"  
   
"My thoughts exactly," Pitch nodded. "I need somebody who has matching but contrasting qualities." He hesitated for a moment, then decided to fight 'till his last breath. "I guess your schedule rather busy, but if you'd agree to it, I think you'd be quite the perfect model."  
   
Sandy nodded along to every word Pitch said, until his last request, of course. The short man furrowed his brow, leaned back, and planted his hands on his hips. "Me? Are you serious?"  
   
"You do qualify quite perfectly," Pitch pressed on, both verbally and physically as well, inching closer and leaning down a little. "Your body is the antithesis of the Nightmare king's. He's black haired, you're blond, he's sharp, you're soft, he's lanky and you're- compact." He was immensely proud of himself. Talking and writing was never really his forte, being slightly on the antisocial/insecure side; his power lay in the pictures. Right now, however, he was doing the best speech of his life. "You don't even have to pose naked, if you don't want to-" Even though he would have greatly preferred that. "You could come at whatever time, I tend to be up at the weirdest hours." He clasped his hands and grinned. Deep inside he hoped he was looking politely interested instead of a creepy perv.  
   
"You'd help me SO much, and I could finish the painting faster."  
   
Something was working well, because Sandy looked absolutely starstruck. "I'd be helping you..?" he repeated softly, that jazzy, smoky voice still managing to sound perfectly sexy even while coming from a plump, cupid-bowed mouth.  
   
Gradually, he dropped his head and clasped his fingers over his chin. "I usually keep daytime hours, but I can come over in the evening if that's okay." He squeezed his eyes shut tight, looking very much like a fat kitten being spritzed with water. "I-I'll pose however you want me to. I want it to be perfect, so if I have to be nude, so be it!"  
   
Victory was sweet and it smelled like coffee. "It's perfectly fine, and thank you so much!" Pitch smiled and gestured toward the kitchenette. "We should drink on it... Even though it's just coffee." He laughed a little. "Perhaps later we could involve something more potent. Sugar, cream? I think I have some biscuits too." Yeah, something more potent, and a lot less clothes, and- Pitch had to force his mind back on track. His gaydar was tingling quietly, but the little guy could be in the closet rather deep. The fact that he wasn't getting any lately wasn't helping though.  
   
When he grinned this time, it was to show off the tiny gap between his two front teeth. Pitch wanted to take his hand, but restrained himself--for as small as he was, Sandy was still a full-grown man.  
   
He tottered over to the kitchen area and slid up into a stool. Everything was stained in paint, but he didn't seem to mind. "I like a lot of sugar."  
   
Pitch poured the coffee, fetched sugar cubes, some milk, and a topic to talk about. "I hope I'm not keeping you for too long... And by all means, you don't have to spend every free minute by me, I mean, I'm not in that much of a hurry, and once I'm halfway done, I can work from memory. Thought I'd love to have you here as often as possible." He dropped two cubes into his own cup. "People... like you don't normally agree to show themselves off... It was a pleasant surprise that you are willing."  
   
So close to Sandy, he could feel the pleasant heat radiating off of his body. He'd feel wonderful, wouldn't he? Pitch could imagine sinking his fingers into the fleshy sides and petting the plumber's round little ass, all the while sapping up his natural warmth...  
   
"Unless I get a call today, you were my last job." Sandy carefully added a cube of sugar to his cup, stirred it, and added another. "I know I'm not the ideal body type one thinks of as "model-worthy", but I really admire what you can do. I think it's great that you would paint something other than Herculean men!"  
   
Stir. Sugar cube. Stir. Sugar cube. "I trust you, I guess." Sandy shrugged, tasted his coffee, made a face, and went for the sugar again. "You're respectful. Even if you laugh about my man-boobs later, you wouldn't be the type to do it in front of me." A tight smile tugged his plumber-turned-model's face. He was obviously used to being teased for his shape. In fact, he seemed to expect it.  
   
"Ah no, I would never laugh. A good artist recognizes beauty in everything. In some cultures, your body type would suggest wealth, and you'd be quite sought after." He smiled over the rim of his cup. "I think the human body is beautiful, no matter what size or shape. An artwork composed by Mother Nature. Some people find me unattractive, unsettling with my long limbs and pale skin, but others find it enticing. I'd bet you've been chased by a few cute chubby girls before, weren't you?"  
   
There it was: the telltale squirming he'd been looking forward to, the demure dropping of his eyes and a timid cough. "I wouldn't know. Girls are nice, but I don't really.. notice.. them.."  
   
He fiddled with his cup, head ducked.  
   
"It's alright..." Pitch shrugged nonchalantly, leaning on the counter, sticking his hips out a bit. "Some people are just not interested... I have quite a few quite interesting friends... In artistic circles, it's suspicious if one doesn't have a few quirks. Or- are you just shy?"  
   
He felt those wide eyes on his backside, and it pleased him much more than it should've. Sandy's hands tightened around his cup, and if Pitch didn't know better, he'd think that noisy slurp was for bravery. "I'm gay," he finally admitted in a voice barely above a whisper.  
   
"I really don't want to make you uncomfortable," Pitch almost purred. "I'm not really the person to judge, since I'm bisexual myself." He frowned a bit. "Thought it's a wonder I still remember that, it's been a good while I last dated anybody. I really should go out more." He sipped his coffee. The cup was draining rapidly, and then he'll have to find something else to do with his mouth.  
   
"You don't!" Sandy sputtered, very much playing the part of a mouse trying to talk its way out of the cat's claws. "I'm not uncomfortable around you. You're very kind, it's just--"  
   
He swallowed and dropped his head. "Not a lot of people know. I get enough harassment as it is."  
   
"You'll be safe here from that," Pitch promised. "Society has serious problems. People even harass a cute guy as you..." He shook his head and emptied his cup. "If you'd like to, I can probably take you to a few places where nobody would frown. I think I even know a person or two who'd love to get to know you."  
   
Happiness lit up his handsome face. All the stars in the sky couldn't compare! "Thanks, Pitch. It means a lot."  
   
He stayed seated, sipping his sugar-saturated coffee while Pitch busied himself with washing up. "On one condition."  
   
Pitch glanced up. "What's that?"  
   
"They have to be lovers. Your Nightmare King and Dreamlord." Sandy grinned, showing just a hint of mischievousness. "I'll pose if you promise they'll fall in love."  
   
"I'm not writing a story for it... Though one of my friends might do that, he's a sucker for fantasy things-" Belatedly, he realized that the request _might_ have been meant another way. "Alright, I see no reason why I shouldn't cater to your wishes." He bowed his head elegantly. He had a certain feeling that things were progressing quite nicely.  
   
The strangest series of events began as soon as he finished his sweet coffee. Pitch noticed that Sandy's face kept growing redder and redder, and there was a bit of perspiration beading near his hairline. His plumber slid to the floor and removed his ballcap, carefully setting it in his chair, and with his head dipped down, he slid his shoes off.  
   
"Where would you like me to stand?" Confusion swirled in Pitch's mind, yet he couldn't voice a word. His guest had shed his sweat-stained uniform shirt and white undershirt without giving him a chance to speak. Then the pants fell.  
   
Sandy stood with his hands folded over his bare groin, blushing from the tips of his ears to the base of his throat.  
   
'Breathing, how do I do it again...?' Pitch mused inwardly. Those man-boobs were screaming at him, demanding he get acquainted with them from as close as possible. "Err, maybe- I mean, close to the window. Natural light, you know. Don't worry, nobody's going to see you.  
   
Sandy glanced over to the window and swallowed audibly. For a moment, Pitch was certain he wasn't going to move.  
   
Then, with his shoulders squared and his chin up, the plumber-turned-model strode to stand where instructed. His hands were clenched but at his side, leaving him completely exposed.  
   
Some might've been keen to snicker at the size of him, but Pitch found beauty in proportion, not societal ideals. He was not surprised by anything he saw; not an inch of him was too big or too small for a man his size. "Is this okay?"  
   
"Perfect." Pitch promptly dropped down, folding his long legs and fetching a sketchbook and a pencil. He began to make studies with speed - artistic instinct momentarily overwrote his other instincts. "Perfect, perfect. You'll make a wonderful Dreamlord." He was silent for five minutes, then scooted closer. "Could you turn a bit? Yes, like that!" It was a miracle the paper didn't catch fire from the rapid movements of the graphite. "Lift your arm- Thanks." More sketching.  
   
His sketches covered everything, from his hair to his belly to his thighs, even catching the surprised expression on Sandy's face when he was complimented. Really, was it so strange to share a kind word?  
   
At one point, his muse turned around completely, showing off the most adorable bubble of an ass Pitch had ever seen.  
   
"Dat ass..." Pitch murmured between gritted teeth, focusing on his work still, though some sexual thought did penetrate his shields and he really, really wanted to bite those buttocks. Wait, that was weird.  
   
These were going to be the most awkward modeling sessions, ever.  
   
"You really should hit the gay bars, somebody is bound to pop up who can fully appreciate your body... I bet you're soft and warm, perfect for cuddles." Nope, the brain-to-mouth filter was not working.  
   
The sunlight filtered through the shell of Sandy's ears, making them appear even redder than before. Self-consciously, Sandy placed one hand on each cheek, but it did nothing to hide his supple rump. It was big and inviting.  
   
"I, uh-- I don't.. Dancing..."  
   
He ducked, shoulders tight. After another minute, he moved his hands from his ass. "Th-thank you?"  
   
"You need to work on the attitude though..." Pitch mused. "You were totally chill and professional when you showed up at my door, and now you're like a shy virgin. No offense in case you actually are... It kinda makes me want to- go Nightmare King on you." He grinned and ducked back into his sketchbook.  
   
"I'm not a virgin!" Sandy peered over his shoulder, his cheeks puffed out a bit. "Have you looked at a mirror recently? It's really awkward being naked in front of a handsome guy."  
   
With that, Sandy turned back around and Pitch understood: his model's plump cock was standing up proudly between his thighs.  
   
The other kind of instincts finally broke through. Pitch's eyes were glued to that delicious little erection. His mouth was watering. "You know- if you're trying to seduce me, it's really working."  
   
"Seduce you? I wasn't--" His little cherub of a model trailed off. The odd silence that followed made Pitch shiver, so he dared to glance up and see if he'd mortified Sandy to the point of passing out on his feet.  
   
The bastard was smirking.  
   
A small finger rested between his lips, those dastardly brown eyes meeting his with a complete lack of fear. "What is it, Pitch? Do you want me?"  
   
The small hand slipped down the bumps of his chest, tracing the swell of his belly, then finally resting at the tip of his penis. With a soft moan, Sandy began to stroke the head hidden by foreskin.  
   
That effectively gave him a boner. Pitch placed the sketchbook to the side and scooted even closer, wetting his parched lips. "You're gorgeous as fuck," he stated. "Why wouldn't I want you?"  
   
The praise made goosebumps appear visibly atop sun-kissed skin. Sandy didn't back away, though. He continued touching himself, skillfully tracing his quivering dick with the tips of his fingers. "How can I know for sure that you want me? Your clothes are still on."  
   
It was like someone flipped a switch. Gone was the laid-back plumber and gone was the shy model; in their place, a darling incubus beckoned Pitch closer with soft lips and wickedly sweet words.  
   
He didn't need to be invited twice. Rising to his knees, Pitch tugged his shirt over his head and scooted closer to finally put his hands on Sandy. His long fingers sank into those squishy hips and slid to the buttocks to knead them.  
   
"I think I'm the luckiest guy in existence at the moment," He grinned. "Please don't lose that butt."  
   
Sandy's skin was soft under his hands, fingers sinking in easily. With their faces so close, he could smell coffee, smoke, and lots and lots of sugar--when Sandy kissed him, he tasted the latter most prominently. His tongue was small but demanding, all but fucking Pitch's mouth.  
   
"As long as you stay smooth as marble," he purred as they parted. Saliva held fast to Pitch's lips, which Sandy licked away with careful sweeps of his tongue. "You're so sexy like this, but you knew that already."  
   
Sandy had snaked his hand between them, and ran it up and down Pitch's stomach while they fondled each other. When it finally stilled, it was just above the base of his cock. It didn't dip any lower, kneading and squeezing the sensitive area instead.  
   
"Hnng, yes, yes, yes." Pitch bucked into the caressing hand, eyes closing from bliss. He momentarily stopped massaging Sandy's ass, but only to push his pants and underwear down on his thighs, exposing his erection to the air, and skilled plumber hands. "I don't want to ruin the mood or anything, but how should we proceed...?"  
   
"Oh, -wow-.." Sandy's eyes widened, and with a soft giggle, he measured Pitch's cock using his hands. "I want to play with this!"  
   
"Please, be my guest," Pitch agreed wholeheartedly. "Just don't break it." Sort of in exchange, he placed his hands on those adorable moobs and gave them a squeeze.  
   
His nipples were hard against Pitch's palms, chest filling his hands just like a pair of perfect breasts. Sandy sighed out his pleasure and took him by the wrists. "Touch them like you mean it."  
   
As that order settled in Pitch's brain, his plumber-turned-model-turned-lover stepped close, trapping his cock between their bellies. "You're so -big-!" he cried, arching with surprising flexibility so he could rub the sandwiched organ between them. "It would stretch me out so much!"  
   
"Whatever you want darling-" Pitch moaned and his hands began to roam, grabbing, squeezing the soft flesh as far as he could reach. Some still sober part of his brain noted that whatever they did won't ruin any painting laying about.  
   
"Hey- You think we can just rub-? I'm out of condoms and I think I'm kinda short on lube, too. Irresponsible, I know."  
   
The little fiend dipped in to kiss him, biting his lower lip and shoving Pitch back all at once. "I'd like that."  
   
When he hit the ground, Sandy climbed on top and arranged them to lay as close to "chest-to-chest" as possible. He used his body as a sex toy, sliding back and forth over Pitch's pinned cock.  
   
It felt too good to hold back. Pitch moaned softly, fine artist hands still feeling up the plump body rocking above. "Oh dammit, this is so good..." he murmured. "You're getting those tendrils through alright... Hnngh..! Shit, this is how they do it. Audience's going to love that..."  
   
There was a momentary shift, in which the friction stopped suddenly. Before he could voice his disappointment though, Pitch felt a hardness against the head of his penis. Sandy was carefully positioned so he could rub his cock against the bundle of nerves just below the glans.  
   
When he resumed his work, it was even more intense than before. Their cocks were slick from precome, so the sliding was easier, faster. "You're looking at me just like your Nightmare King looks at his Dreamlord," Sandy breathed.  
   
"I might or might not have fapped one of those days-" Pitch whined. He leaned up, to kiss Sandy, with much tongue, teeth and passion. "Just fuck me, you devious creature. We'll talk about that later...!" All the abstinence did nothing to his stamina, apparently. Pitch was losing it fast, and he couldn't care less.  
   
Those tiny fingers dug into Pitch's hips, and with a soft groan, Sandy pinned him down and began to thrust hard against his cock. The sensation was intense, with that little jiggly body frotting with his penis as eagerly as a child with a new, shiny toy. "You love it.." he cooed, tongue flicking out, "I can feel you twitching, you slut, you're going to come all over me."  
   
Pitch snickered between two moans. "You're ruining the character..." His voice was stolen though by a sudden, even more pleasurable move. "Oh fuck yes!" His back arched and his thighs squeezed Sandy's hips. "Like that, just like that...! So close-"  
   
Sandy didn't obey. While he kept up his carefully-aimed thrusts, they became more and more feral. He squeezed Pitch's pecs while forcefully grinding those sensitive nerves together, all the while making sweet, soft sounds that would put a porn star to shame. "Lemme come on your chest...!"  
   
"You don't need to ask..." His artistic career would have been short lived if he were afraid of a little filth. Pitch winked at Sandy. "Dirty me up, you fiend. Paint me...!"  
   
With a whimper, Sandy sat up and shimmied along Pitch's abdomen. He sat his soft ass atop his cock, which trembled when he took himself in hand and stroked fast.  
   
Proportional or not, he had a lot more semen to share than Pitch realized. It arced up to coat his chest and neck, even managing to hit his face with a few far-reaching strands. And he kept coming and coming, body swaying in pleasure, cheeks clenching -so tight- around Pitch's cock..  
   
The sight itself was pretty darn sexy, but combined with those moves... Pitch's lean body tensed up and he came as well, with a bitten-off cry. The orgasm bleached his mind for a second, and even as he was coming from the high, his thighs were twitching. The semen didn't bother him the least.  
   
Note to self, he had to get a camera.  
   
Sandy took slow, deep breaths, eyes closed and lips parted while he too came back to Earth. His little cock still rested in his fingertips, which shook as he tried to keep sitting upright. "You were amazing," he whispered.  
   
"Not so bad yourself..." Pitch grinned lazily, like a long, pale cat. "This is going to be the most pleasurable painting I've ever done."  
   
"Would you ever consider selling it?" Sandy lowered himself down to his tummy, and with short sweeps of his tongue, began to languidly clean away his mess. His ass was arched up behind him, swaying as he tasted himself.  
   
"Idunno.." Pitch groaned and let himself relax. "And you're not helping, but please don't stop. I want to finish it first. Then I'll decide. I could paint more of them-"  
   
His petal-soft mouth moved across Pitch's chest, where it wrapped around one nipple. "I don't know if I'd want everyone to see the way you look at me," he said between noisy sucks, eyelashes resting on his cheeks, "You'd have perfect strangers falling in love with you."  
   
"Too bad for them..." Pitch was purring now, and he weaved his fingers into Sandy's hair. "I might just have to keep you both."  
   
With one last 'pop', Sandy released his nipple. He planted a kiss to Pitch's chin before dropping down to snuggle his chest--he was a world-class cuddler, just as Pitch surmised. "Just don't put anymore condoms down the drain and you've got a deal."  
 


	2. Black Dress and Long Legs

She was a professional. That meant she arrived to her appointments a few minutes early, wearing clothes that were neatly pressed, matching lingerie, and patent black heels--never suede on a rainy night like tonight.

She looked impeccable, as a glance to the wall of mirrors near the lobby entrance showed. Not a hair out of place. Her umbrella was tucked under her arm, handbag hanging from her elbow, and long fingers poised elegantly in leather gloves as she signed her name on the registry ("Kozima P. Black"). A keycard and a nod later, she was on her way to the upper suites.

It wasn't often that she took clients at this hotel; while she was used to the finer restaurants and lodgings offered by the city (and some of the surrounding areas, if the situation called for it), this part of town catered to the sort with more money than they knew what to do with. A smile crossed her painted red lips. Perhaps this was her chance to make her foothold in the sort of life she'd always dreamed of.

Of course, she almost blew that chance when she saw just who she'd be entertaining. It took all she had not to laugh at the sight of the fat little man with brown eyes, a crooked brown tie, and his small hands clutching a vase of white roses. Three dozen, if she estimated correctly.

He looked straight into her eyes, deliberately avoiding anything below her cheeks. "G-good evening, miss--er, ma'am.. Um.. I'm Sandy," he stammered, voice shaking almost as badly as his hands were. "These are f-for you."

"Oh, they are so lovely!" She managed a smile and took the oversized bouquet, burying her nose into the pristine petals. It helped that she liked roses. "How considerate, thank you!" She flashed a smile at him (he was older than twenty one, really...?) and with a little trouble, she freed a hand to gesture toward the suite. "Shall we go inside?"

His round face was flushed at first, but when she suggested the bedroom, it turned almost as white as the roses. "What? The-- yes.. Yes."

She noticed that his hands were clenched tight and he fidgeted from foot to foot. "I can take your coat." Her client--Sandy, really what sort of a name was that for a boy?--looked either at her face or at the floor. What a waste of a sexy black dress if he wasn't going to even admire it! "There's champagne on ice, you're.. You're welcome to--or should I pour a--I mean, I'll take your coat and make a, pour a glass of champagne." He swallowed hard. "..do you like champagne?"

"I do," she assured him as soon as she found a suitable flat surface to put the flowers down. She'll leave them here, anyway. "Thank you." She put the umbrella and her bag down, then turned her back to him, so he could help with the fine coat. "I'll take care of that champagne, you just sit and relax. You must have had a stressful day." She threw a seductive glance over her shoulder. "I'm here to help you unwind, Mr. Sandy."

She had to bend and he had to stretch up on tiptoe, but in the end, he managed to take her coat. He mumbled something behind it and shuffled away to hang it up.

This had to be a joke. No way this guy was twenty-something! He had to be some rich bastard's son, not even out of high school, wanting to impress his friends..!

Heading into the bedroom, she was rather impressed by it all. This had to be one of the more expensive suites, if the huge bed and mini bar were any indication. He came in behind her, and after a moment's hesitation, pulled the doors closed to the living area. "You're quite pretty. I didn't expect someone so beautiful--" The odd man's eyes suddenly bulged. "I knew you'd be beautiful, I mean, but I didn't realize--um... What's your name?"

"Kozima," she smiled, tugging off her gloves and offering a hand to him. "Charmed to meet you." At least the little one had good manners, taking her hand and kissing it softly. She stepped closer, gently righting his tie. "Thank you for the compliment, I love to impress people. I'm glad everything is to your liking." She turned toward the low table on the side, where an ice bucket and two glasses were waiting. Kozima picked up the bottle and offered it to the miniature gentleman. "Would you open it?" If he managed to shoot the lights with the cork, at least that might loosen the mood, maybe. He acted as if he were a virg- woah. Woah. Surely not.

His lips were pursed tight and he nodded jerkily, taking the champagne from her. Both hands were tiny and pudgy--in fact, all of him was probably proportioned the same way. It was interesting, though, that he didn't sweat or stink. He just seemed genuinely nervous.

Holding the bottle over the bucket, he popped the cap and let the foam slip out. Two glasses shook between his fingers. "Ch.. Cheers.." No sooner did she take the glass, that Sandy downed the entire amount in his and set about a refill.

Great. He was sort of cute, but at this rate, he'll be sloshed before the first kiss. Kozima settled down on the bed, slipping out of her heels. The carpet was soft beneath her toes. She let the dress slip from her long leg, the slit on the skirt going almost as high as her hip. "You need to relax, remember? Come sit. No need to be so nervous." She beckoned to him. "First time with an agency girl? We are not trained assassins, I can assure you." She laughed a little.

She thankfully caught him before a third glass of champagne went down the hatch. "I apologize, I--" Kozima smiled, amused as his eyes widened yet again. Now, he was finally staring at something besides her face: he was a leg man if ever she'd seen one. "Oh, God.."

Sandy set his glass down, and with one little hand, brushed the hair back from his face. The strands were golden, but looked naturally so. From what she could see, his hair was bleached neither by sun or chemical, so it was a good guess that his rich skintone was probably natural too. He'd be handsome if he wasn't so.. short.

He climbed onto the bed beside her. Her client looked like a reticent child, hands in his lap and head hanging. "Yes.. It's my first time."

"You don't need to worry," she purred. "We're ordinary girls, nothing exceptional." Aside the prize, of course. "Nothing you haven't seen already... Except maybe the most gorgeous legs." She giggled and stretched out her long, thin leg. She wasn't busty, and nowhere near as curvy as she would've liked, but her legs, she was proud of those. "I can promise that we'll be having a memorable night though." Her mind was already on the topic; probably there wasn't an orgasm to be had tonight, with that tiny dick.

Most men were all over her by now, touching her thighs and worshiping her hips and ass, maybe even petting her feet, but he didn't move. Well, at least he didn't move -toward- her; instead, his entire body shook hard enough that she could feel the tremors through the nice mattress. His eyes were glued to his lap. "I th-think you're exceptional," Sandy mumbled.

"Aww, that's really sweet of you." She was getting a little impatient, actually. So she leaned closer, wrapping her arm around the round shoulders and kissing his hot cheek. He smelled strange - sweet, with a hint of something else, she couldn't figure out what, but it was oddly pleasant. It suited him, too.

"I'm yours tonight," she whispered into his ear. "Don't be afraid to touch. I'm intrigued... what sort of lover are you?"

For the first time in a long time, someone actually shrank away from her. When he spoke, he sounded like he hadn't had a sip of water in days. "I don't know.."

He manned up after a second, though, and turned his head so they could kiss. It was tight-lipped and awkward, with absolutely no tongue. He wasn't breathing, either! Sandy pulled away after the barest contact, hands clenched tight and knuckles bone-white.

Kozima blinked. Dear heavens, the kid was probably really a virgin... Surprisingly enough, that added to his appeal. Well-mannered, cute and blushing, hmm. She took his hands into her own.

"I'm sorry, I misunderstood - this is really your first time ever, right? The hotel threw me off. How come you haven't had a girlfriend...? Girls are addicted to deep wallets." Maybe he had a secret he conveniently forgot to tell to the agency... And in that case, she had the right to know.

He blinked hard. His hands were icy cold in hers, and she could see the shame starting to build in his wide brown eyes. "Honestly, would a girl who looks like you even glance at a guy like me?" Sandy shrugged and smiled bitterly. "Let's face it, I'm short, fat, and ugly."

That- was not what she was used to. Sometimes elderly gentlemen complained about their age... just to prove that they were silver fox stallions. "Come on now, that's not true...!" she protested. "I mean, you're short, yes, so what, plenty of short guys out there. You're... um, pudgy, okay, but you still look nice. And all that cash could make you slimmer for sure, if you'd like to do something about it. And you're definitely not ugly. You're cute, you have pretty eyes, your skin and hair looks healthy, and your scent is nice." She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I... find it sweet how shy you are. Personality has a lot to do with attraction. You just need to be a little braver! Most girls like when a guy knows what he wants. Not being violent or overly dominating of course, just sure of himself. Such a young guy like you has to have confidence."

"Maybe I'd be braver if I wasn't--" He started off curtly, then stopped himself short. Slowly, he buried his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry. I know you're only trying to help."

The kid (man, she inwardly corrected) looked so defeated. It was pitiful, really. "Look, I don't think I can do this. You.. How much do I owe you?"

Kozima bit her lower lip. Aww, the little bastard was so miserable... It actually made her chest ache. The agency probably won't scowl if she just left, it happened, but- the situation was nagging at her pride. Wasn't she attractive enough to make that dick stand or something? Hnng, she wasn't trained to do this...!

She slipped off the bed and kneeled in front of him, gently prying the little hands off his face. "You can just talk, if you'd like to," she offered softly. "We can go somewhere else, have fun and then go on our way. We don't have to let this night go to waste." She tilted her head to the side, smiling. "I can give you a few lessons in kissing as well. So you could be braver next time."

They both knew it was pity keeping her here, but he appreciated it all the same. The kicked puppy expression faded a little, and he finally gave her a real smile instead. "Thank you, Kozima."

She was a little surprised when he reached forward to stroke his hand down her cheek. "I don't mind what else we do, but I'd really like to kiss you."

"Relax your lips, close your eyes, go with what feels right," she advised, giggling a bit. Suddenly she felt like a highschool girl, trying to tackle the first serious date. "I'm quite sure you have the theoretical knowledge."

Across from her, the fat little man inhaled sharply and nodded. "Oh.. Okay.."

He dropped his hands to her shoulders and leaned in. This time, his lips were relaxed, so she was able to enjoy the silky-soft texture of his mouth. Sandy was not demanding at all, but was still firm. His hand slid into her hair, curled, and to her surprise, he pulled just a little.

She always enjoyed kissing, so Kozima just went with it, gently slipping her tongue into that sweet mouth; Sandy probably had some sweets prior to her arrival, because he really tasted sweet, with some hints of champagne on his tongue.

Also, he was an astonishingly fast learner... possibly a natural talent. He didn't balk and became braver by the minute. Kozima found herself slipping her arms around his shoulders and raking fingers through his hair. It was so soft! Guys rarely had such fine hair.

His tremors intensified, but he didn't pull away until immediately after shyly swiping his tongue over her lips. "Will it be easier if you sit on the bed?" He was blushing again, mouth stained with her red lipstick.

"It's fine either way," she shrugged with a smile and rose to sit next to him. "You taste nice." Her eyelids lowered halfway and her lips parted, as if waiting for a treat.

"It's better when you're up here." He nervously tugged at his collar, voice quieting as his eyes fell to her exposed thigh. "I like.. seeing, um.. you.."

He gulped. "Can we do that again?"

She promptly took his hand and placed it on her leg only covered by the dark stockings barely thicker than a breath. "We can do everything you want. You can even tell me your fantasies, and we'll see if we can make them true."

"Uh, god.." His little hand tensed, fingers pressing into her skin. Slowly, he dragged his palm down her leg, a bit more boldly than she anticipated. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. "I want to know how to pleasure a woman."

Sandy dropped his head, scooted over, and laid both hands on her thigh. "I'm not very big, so it's best if my mouth and hands are good, right? You've been so nice, it's only fair if I do something nice for you." Cheeks feverishly red, he looked up into her eyes. "Teach me how to make you come."

Okay, okay, that was way too adorable. Kozima cupped that cute little face and smashed their lips together. Teaching a shy little guy to be a good lover? How often can a woman do that? Most men never asked for advice, they just claimed they were the second Don Juan whether they had any skills or not!

“Touch and kiss anywhere you would like! Most girls like the foreplay,” she told him. “I quite like some attention to my legs... But if you’d like to start with the more advanced classes, I can show you what to do with your tongue.”

He moaned sweetly into her mouth. And good heavens, was he actually being bold enough to slip his hand under her stockings? His fingers were warm and incredibly soft, sneaking along her inner thigh in a touch that was barely there.

"I want you to like it," he breathed, pushing his other hand beneath the other nylon sheath. This one was a bit rougher. He actually squeezed her! "I-it would make me happy if.. you really, um.. got off.."

"We have a deal," she nodded. "First of all, don't be afraid of doing something wrong; if I don't like what you're doing, I'll tell." She pulled her legs up, turned a bit and stretched them out again, so now he was sitting between her thighs. "The start is really promising," she mentioned, caressing Sandy's eager little hand with her fingertip. "Just do what you always wanted to do." There was a small chance that the shy demeanor hid a psycho, but Kozima was willing to take that chance.

Her encouragement seemed to help considerably. He licked his upper lip and spread his hands, sliding both palms up to her naked upper thighs and in, tracing the lacy edges of the garters and belt she wore under her slinky dress. Sandy explored her slowly. She was more accustomed to being stripped down and bent over in the time it took him to run his palms over an area so non-erotic as the crease where hip met thigh.

At least, she -thought- it was non-erotic. Once, his mouth opened like he was going to ask permission, but he decided against it; in the next second, he'd pulled her dress up to expose her panties. The look on his face made her stomach flip pleasantly. He didn't touch her there, though. He kept petting those two patches of skin left bare by her lingerie. "Um.. Promise to tell me if it's weird?" asked her odd little client, as he slid to the floor, still between her legs.

"Sure, sure," She gave him another encouraging smile. Her insides were stirring pleasantly; for all the action she had seen ever since she began to work with the agency (and some before), this slow approach was making her tingle most pleasantly. She felt innocent, a little shy and- wanted. Sandy was not handling her as an escort. He treated Kozima like a lover. Her long fingers raked across his scalp, brushing the golden hair back. "Just go ahead!"

He kissed her palm, hoisted up her left leg behind the knee, and kissed that, too. His breath condensed to a small bit of moisture everywhere his mouth touched, which quickly cooled when he moved on. Sandy held her gently, only shifting her leg when he wanted to press his mouth to some other secret place. Her thighs received most of his attention (he even sucked lightly once or twice), lips and teeth at her skin, at the nylon, and his tongue even swiping underneath the elastic band.

After nuzzling the back of her knee, he kissed his way down to her lean calves. She felt teeth scrape her Achilles tendon, then his tongue swirled around the knob of her ankle, then more slow, sweet kisses to the inside of her foot. Briefly, he nuzzled her toes. She could feel his long eyelashes even through the hosiery.

When he came up again, he laid his cheek against her inner thigh and inhaled.

Christ, was he sniffing her panties..?

She didn't have long to think, for his short finger hooked in her stocking and pulled. Sandy began a slow descent, kissing a trail of naked skin as he unwrapped her left leg like a long-awaited gift.

She couldn't do anything aside enjoying the ride. This was one of her better ideas, she mused; the little guy seemed to enjoy himself, and his tender ministrations ignited a flame in her belly. She stretched her legs out then draped her right one over his shoulder, to gently rub his back with her foot. If he so liked them, there was no point in denying him the fun.

He chuckled softly and peeked up, lips flushed and swollen. "I thought you wouldn't like it."

Absently, he stroked her right leg with his free hand and tilted his head to nuzzle the side of her knee. His eyes were on her when he removed the second stocking, taking more care in peeling it off than she ever did herself. When he rolled it from her foot, he paused to drop a kiss on top of her arch. "You're pretty like this all over, aren't you?"

"I'm probably not the perfect judge of that..." She shrugged lightly, but the praise hidden in the question made her to tilt her chin up proudly. "But, others say I'm that. I think you'll have to see it for yourself."

His hands slid up and down her long legs, fingers making her skin prickle into goosebumps without the hose to cover them. He stood slow, determination in his little face, and slid back onto the bed with her.

When he kissed her this time, it was urgent and wet, his tongue squirming deep into her mouth and rubbing smoothly against hers. She could feel a small point of pressure against her abdomen--his dick, she reasoned. Just as she'd anticipated, he wasn't very big at all; despite his enthusiasm for her, she allowed a little disappointment to seep through. At least he would be considerate.

He pressed against her, and obediently, she slid to lay on her back, never once breaking his needy kiss. When she felt his hands again, they were on a breast each and scraped blunt nails down the fabric keeping him from touching her properly. At one point, he brushed her nipple and she shuddered. Sandy grinned at the reaction. 

"What?" Kozima asked, more breathless than she realized.

He shrugged, thumb and forefinger seizing her nipple through her clothes and seizing it -hard-.

"Mm!" She squirmed; her nipples were very sensitive. The sudden roughness surprised her, but it was not unwelcome. As a small revenge though, she curled her legs around Sandy's thighs, sliding her feet down over his thick calves.

His plump body shifted as he moved to put more weight on his knees, thereby freeing his opposite hand from where it was holding him up. After a moment of searching, he managed to locate her other nipple and pinched it with just as much ferocity.

She looked up to see a strange glint in his eyes, his expression still soft but darker than she'd ever pictured him having.

Kozima purred. ”I'm glad you like them. Would you like to see them from a little closer?"

Blushing to his ears, he nodded quickly and set his hands on his lap. "I don't know how to take one of, erm.." He gestured to her chest, "..those off.

She giggled, covering her mouth briefly. "Yeah, not many do- I'll show you." She sat up and turned her back to him. "Pull the zipper down. Then take both straps and push the two ends toward each other - a lot of bras close with little hooks."

Sandy cleared the zipper without a problem and Kozima brushed the straps off her shoulder, letting the fabric slip off her front. The bra was strapless, so once it was undone, she held it out to the side elegantly and dropped it, glancing back over her shoulder.

"See, it's not Fort Knox," she smiled, then slipped of the bed to get rid of her dress; the silky black thing slipped off effortlessly, leaving her bare before his eyes, save the black panties and garter belt.

For a moment, she was sure he'd never seen breasts before, but this was the 21st century--if this little man was as rich as she suspected, he had a computer, he had internet, and therefore, had seen bare breasts. But still, it was a little flattering to be the recipient of that wide-eyed stare, and from where she stood, she had a good view of the small bulge between his thighs. "Y-you're so beautiful, er--" he trailed off, "Sorry, I must sound stupid."

When she didn't approach, she saw him remember himself and set to untying his bowtie. When he was done, he left it loose around his neck, then held his hands out for her. She stepped in, shivering as he nuzzled over her bare breasts. "I mean it, though."

"It's alright." Kozima caressed his hair fondly. "We don't get praised like that very often. You're really cute." she dragged her hands over her breasts. "Please touch more," she encouraged, and her fingers sneaked up to the shirt's buttons; truth to be told, she was getting more and more curious about the body underneath.

"Thank you.." His palm slid up her sternum, fingers spreading out to brush the insides of both breasts. As she unfastened the first few buttons, he trembled a little; when she got halfway down, he began to tense noticeably. But he didn't tell her to stop. He laid his cheek against her and gently kneaded her, avoiding the nipples he'd been so fond of before.

She kneeled down soon and parted the shirt. His chest was hairless and to her slight surprise, the fat little male boobs weren't off-putting. He looked like a plump cherub who lost his bow and quiver and was in for a good scolding. She licker her lips and pressed them against his nipples, flicking the tip of her tongue against the hard little nub; then she continued kissing along his collarbone and neck, her hands sliding up and down atop his thighs.

He was still hard, perhaps the hardest he was going to get, and unless his slacks were unnaturally restrictive, she was in for less than three inches. His hands trembled as he slid his shirt from his arms. Hesitation was clear in his face, yet he kissed her with the same enthusiasm as before.

"No need to worry," she whispered to him. "It's going to be fine. How about switching places? You wanted to pleasure me, after all... I'd like to feel your tongue on me."

A relieved breath rushed from his chest, face relaxing into an adorable, soft-eyed smile. "W-wait.."

Sandy gently stroked her thighs and placed a kiss to her hip, then gently tugged her panties down. After laying another kiss to her pubis, he pulled her forward and onto the bed, so she could lay down. "How do I..?"

"Haven't you seen enough porn?" she teased. She slowly slipped her hand between her legs and spread the outer lips. "This is the magic button otherwise known as the clit." She flicked her fingertip against the tiny bud. "Give it some attention, and you'll have spectacular results. Lick it, suck it; and you can use your fingers, too. There's a spongy patch inside, on the top..." She trailed off, pondering. "I'll warn you if it hurts, though... you might be able to fit your entire hand inside...!"

His cheeks flushed bright red. "I meant.. you should tell me what you like."

But he didn't wait for any further instruction. His small hands rested atop her vagina, thumbs running up and down over her outer lips. He pulled them apart, then buried his mouth into her spread, pink sex. He kissed it tenderly, tongue flicking over her opening, and finally pushed it deep inside, perhaps as far as he could go. His hands dug into her hips, holding her down and pulling her in all at once.

"Nn, yes!" Kozima's back arched a little as she finally succumbed to pleasure. "I quite like my clit sucked..." she breathed, hand kneading her breasts. "Y-you're doing well, please keep on-"

The tongue buried inside was replaced by short, thick fingers. She didn't know how many there were, but they filled her up, stretched her, deliciously. Sandy slurped at her like a greedy little child, then wrapped his lips around her clit--his fingers found that spot and pushed down as he began to suck. It was noisy, lewd, loud sounds reverberating up from his ducked head.

Suddenly she had trouble keeping her thighs spread. . She dug her toes into the thick carpet and let her voice out to let him know how she enjoyed it. Soft moans and mewls filled the air, with a heartfelt praise breaking through here and there. Sandy was doing a wonderful job. His enthusiastic mouth drew the blood to her clit, making it more sensitive, and those nimble little fingers rubbed her G-spot just right.

“Keep up- Ooh, yes, please... Hnn! That feels so good...!"

Sandy's other hand held her lips open, leaving her exposed and helpless to his questing tongue and vicious fingers. They pushed up hard, and he swept his tongue over that little nub, teeth scraping next, then drew it back inside. She dared to look down.

He was staring back up at her. Smugly.

"Looks like you got over that shyness..." Kozima licked her lips. "Make me come, Sandy."

All of the sensations doubled immediately. His tongue swirled around the clit rapidly, the suckling hard and desperate, and inside, his fingers were kneading that spot nice and hard. And he was moaning, too, over the slick sounds of his mouth trying to devour her.

She pressed a hand over her mouth, but that did only so much to muffle her squeals. Her back was arching, thighs quivering and hips buckling slightly.

"Sandy- S-Sandy!" Her entire body tensed up as she came, her insides trembling and bathing in fluids. Kozima panted heavily, twitching once or twice before relaxing against the bed. "Oh wow... that was mind-blowing..."

He went at her hungrily, tongue sliding back and forth over her dribbling slit. When he finally sat up, he was sucking at his chubby fingers and licking his shining mouth, cheeks slick with her fluids. "..you tasted so good.."

"And you did so very well!" She sat up and wrapped her arms around him, pulling Sandy into a passionate kiss. "That was such an excellent performance," she cooed, "It reserves something really nice in exchange." Before he could say anything, she was kneeling on the floor, undoing his belt.

His sighs were sweet and soft, but when she went for his belt, he let out a yelp. "Wait.. wait, please!!"

But it was too late. He was exposed, a fat, short little cock standing up proudly. There was thick foreskin drooping over the head, his masculine scent wafting up to her nose. Slowly, the erection began to flag; shame flushed his face, and he used his hands to cover himself.

"What's the problem?" Kozima stared at him, a little worried, and very confused. "Sandy, dear-" she gently pried the little hands away. "It's okay- It's okay! There's nothing to be ashamed of...!" She reached up to caress his face. "Tell me what's wrong, because I want to fix it so I could get to your delicious little cock." She licked her lips again. "I want to taste you so badly..."

His lips trembled, fingers clenched tight by his hips. "It's too small," he choked out finally, eyes squeezed shut.

"At least it'll fit into my mouth," She murmured and leaned down to get to her goal. She took him into her hand, rubbing with her thumb and breathing kisses over the half-hard penis. She was damned if she didn't get it standing up again. With enthusiasm mostly seen in adult videos, she licked and kissed him while playing with his testicles - those were larger than average though! Fat and round, they fit into her palm, the skin nearly smooth over them.

"Size isn't everything," she added wisely, and for the first time, she felt that the saying might carry more truth than most were willing to recognize.

The little bit of attention, just those few kisses and touches making his small manhood stiffen in her mouth. He seemed to react very well to her hands, his testicles swelling up to the size of two small plums. Sandy got wet, too, dribbling down her tongue. "I-- eh..." He covered his eyes, shaking nervously. "...d'you like it..?"

"I wouldn't be doing this if I weren't." Kozima opened her mouth and let his entire length disappear between her lips. Her tongue massaged the underside, then she let the erection go with a lewd, wet sound. She carefully peeled the foreskin back, baring the head and sucked it back into her mouth, the tip of her tongue teasing the slit. Then she sucked.

"Oh, god..." Sandy buried his fingers in her hair and tossed his head back, gasping with delicate little sounds, "Kozima, mnn.. fuck!"

The huge testicles tightened, shuddering in her palm. He wasn't going to last. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum!!"

Somehow, those words never filled her with so much delight before (save maybe the very first occasion). She sucked harder, squeezing his balls gently, as if trying to squeeze the juice out of a succulent fruit. She moaned too, encouraging him to just let it go. The poor little thing truly deserved a good orgasm.

It wasn't a moment later that he spilled into her mouth, much more of a load than she was used to. He had a lot for her, thick like jelly and hot as could be. His body shuddered, mouth wide in a soft cry. "Kozima..!!"

Hearing her name was a treat in itself, so she swallowed without protest, shivering as the thick liquid trickled down her throat. She didn't release him until he stopped pulsing. She gulped one last time then she smiled at him seductively. "Wow, you had quite a lot to spare! I'm sure there's still a lot to spend."

"Mmm.." His hands were warm in her hair and down her cheeks, gently cupping her face. His eyes were soft, too, liquid chocolate that gazed right into hers... then began to roll back. "Just a minute," he answered, before falling prone onto his back.

Kozima slowly raised a brow, then stood, leaning over him. "Sandy...?" There was no reply. The soft chest rose and fell slowly, and there was a hint of a smile on the angelic face.

Kozima folded her arms. "Well, excuse me," she remarked flatly. Sandy apparently was a little low on stamina - he was sleeping soundly.

She couldn't be too angry with him though. She eventually rolled her eyes with a smile and went to fetch the hotel-provided bathrobe from the bathroom. Then, she helped herself from the minibar and after some hesitation, she switched on the TV. Once he woke, they could always resume the bedroom gymnastics.

\---------------------

About two and a half hours and a nice late night movie later, Kozima sneaked back to the bed and gently began to shake Sandy. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty... I should be working for my money."

She was answered with a soft hand to her cheek, followed by an arm up and around the back of her neck. Pulled down to eye level, she received a gentle kiss. "Maybe you shouldn't have to do that anymore," he answered softly, voice heavy from sleep.

" _There ain't no rest for the wicked / Money don't grow on trees,_ " she hummed. "I'm pretty, young, and aspiring to lead a luxurious life. It's not that bad. It's both escorting _and_ some sex. Most clients are nice. Or downright adorable." She kissed back. "I don't mind being with you at all. Even if you sleep in after an orgasm."

The pudgy little man rolled onto his back, hair sticking out all over the place from where he'd slept so hard. He probably hadn't had such an intense orgasm before (one couldn't mimic a blowjob with a hand, after all), and was eager to share his post-coital giddiness with her. She was used to that.

What she wasn't used to was what he said next. "What if you had a luxurious life without having to do all that?"

Kozima actually decided to give it a thought. "I think I'd go back to school. Something classy and artsy. I'd buy a horse. A beautiful black mare." She grinned and stretched. "I'm sure I could manage. The sex is nice though, so I wouldn't stop. But I'd leave the agency, of course." She squinted at him. "Want to be my sugar daddy?"

He tilted his head, face flushing so angelically she had to wonder if he'd truly just come down her throat a few hours before. "I'm not saying that, but I do have a stable in the country."

Arching his brow, he gave her a daring smile.


	3. Dark Current

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be naughty. You have been warned.

"Hold still, you little nuisance!"

He was trapped. Cornered in the dark dwelling of the wizard, who was so much bigger than him, stronger and faster... And he could do magic. Bad magic that made the water taste like blood. The wizard's golden eyes were glinting and his six strong legs' tips curled and uncurled

"By the Northern Current, I'm not trying to harm you. Stop acting so childish."

"You're lying! You're going to cut me!"

Sandy reached for a half-buried stone in the sand, wrapping his limber tail around it with ease. Hauling himself away, he swam as furiously as he could using arms and spring-like motions of his curled tail.

The octopus wizard had six legs though that doubled as tails, propelling him through the water. He also had two long arms. "You infernal-!" The chase was short, soon those long arms wrapped around Sandy's waist and his tail was immobilized by sleek black legs.

"You're not going anywhere, precious. You wouldn't get past my watchers anyway... Be a good boy! Remember that you have no use when dead. I'm not going to hurt you! Stop this struggl- I said stop!" Long fingers fisted into Sandy's golden hair and the wizard tugged his head back painfully.

"You're coming with me and you'll stay still," he hissed. "Else I'll cut your tail off. See how fast you are then."

A sob broke across his lips, but Sandy swallowed it back as quick as it'd come. The wizard Pitch Black was a strange man, spoken of in whispers back home in the reef. Though beautiful, with his inky black body and piercing eyes, he was rumored to be dangerous as a Great White.

Sandy gave up his fight, going limp so the pain would stop. How foolish he'd been, to go so far from home and straight to the octopus cove! He'd never believed anyone could be as bad as rumors said.

But Pitch was dark as his name suggested, a practitioner of strange, frightening magic that darkened the waves, chased away the life around them, and caused nightmares Sandy never wished to remember. "I'm sorry," he choked, though he knew there was no use, "Please don't chop off my tail!"

Pitch rolled his eyes. "We're going home now." Catching the glint of hope in Sandy's eyes, he grinned. It wasn't a pretty sight. "My home, little fool. You're mine now. You gave yourself to me the moment you floated into my territory. You will do as I say..." His long tongue swept over the boy's neck. "And I won't be cruel to you:"

He continued to plead, though he knew it was no use. His hand flexed helplessly, pudgy fingers grasping at nothing, and despite himself, his tail grasped at one of Pitch's tentacles.

\------

He found that he liked to do that when he was scared or sad, and Pitch didn't seem to mind the contact at all. While he wove his spells, Sandy stayed back with the needed ingredients and held to his backmost tentacle in the meantime. The weeks passed this way, until he considered himself Pitch's assistant instead of his captive.

Pitch Black was so very handsome, it was much nicer to think of him as a friend.  
Sometimes his body thought of him as even more than that. His pouch fluttered open a lot lately, puffing out for Pitch's attention though he knew it was useless to try.

The wizard was way too absorbed into something. He never told what, and Sandy didn't really want to know, either, because on some nights, screams were coming from his room. First time, Sandy swam to help, but those strange darkling fishes that always lurked on Pitch's territory didn't let him in. Sandy backed into his room then, and closed his shell-bed's lid to block out the horrible sound.

That day though, Pitch was in a surprisingly good mood. He smiled, his words were soft, and it might have been just Sandy's imagination, but he had the feeling Pitch was eyeing his pouch. It made his skin tingle.

When the water darkened, Pitch called for Sandy. The wizard took the boy's hand and pulled him into his own room, that was rather sparsely furnished. Pitch only had a bed in there, though it was quite large.

"I need your help with something, little one,” he told Sandy. "It is a very important task."

His heart sang and his fins twitched, eyes lighting up as he squeezed Pitch's beautiful hand. "Of course! Anything for you--" He paused, then added shyly: "Master."

The grin was prettier this time. In fact, Pitch leaned closer and lightly kissed Sandy. "You're such a good boy." He placed his long hand on Sandy's pouch, tracing it down on the middle until he reached the opening. His fingers massaged the tight folds gently - Sandy flushed prettily as they parted, inviting him in - then those slender digits dove lower, to find the penis currently hiding inside the soft, golden body.

"That's what I need," Pitch purred. "Release it for me."

Oh.

Oh.

His tail flexed, then coiled tight as he debated with himself. Yes, Pitch was beautiful, but did he want to do -this- with him?

Another kiss erased his doubts. He was so good at that! Sandy whimpered into his lips, eyes sliding shut. He relaxed happily, penis emerging from its sheath to fill Pitch's hand. "You.. want to mate..?"

"Yes." There wasn't a hint of shyness in Pitch as he said that. "I want you to dive as deep into me as you just can. You know how to do that, right?" Maybe he was doing magic again. His fingers felt really good.

He nodded, shuddering in absolute bliss. Sandy couldn't believe this was happening--someone so beautiful and powerful and wonderful wanted him. His first time was going to be with this handsome witch!

His penis trembled, standing out from under his chubby belly. With his hips a-wiggle, he slipped forward into Pitch's long arms. "I go now right..?" He closed his eyes, body instinctively seeking out a hole to fill.

When Pitch moved away from him, he almost whined, but his eyes opened to a lovely sight - the lean wizard lay back on his bed, rolled his hips and one by one, he spread his legs, revealing the underside of his belly. His anatomy was unfamiliar, Sandy couldn't place everything he saw, but Pitch helped. He pointed out an opening, and spread it with two fingers.

"Here, little one. Dive in and fill me up."

His insides were a pretty color, even if they were grey instead of pink. He knew he belonged in there--it'd feel so good, so good!!

But imagining wasn't anything like actually feeling it. Pitch drew him right inside, slick and tight, and Sandy pleaded softly for mercy as that body clamped down tight. "Mnnn!! Thank you, thank you, master!" he gasped, small hips twitching hard.

Black legs wrapped around him, drawing him ever closer and caressing his body all over. "That's it, darling," Pitch murmured. "Give it to me, your essence, give me all of it. Be a good boy." He didn't seem affected, though his eyes were glowing brighter and his legs moved restlessly. His hand cupped Sandy's face, stroking his lips with the pad of his thumb.

"I love you so much!!" he gasped, face buried against Pitch's chest. He felt amazing! "Oh, master!"

Sandy nuzzled him, kissing his fingers as he thrashed forward to get inside as deep as possible. Maybe it was silly, but he was certain these intense, confusing feelings were love.

He'd lasted all of thirty or forty seconds when he felt a strange tingling in his loins. " Oh!! Oh!!"

By that time, Pitch's eyes were halfway closed and his lips tightly drawn. His gills were flaring and he shifted, trying to move into an even more suitable position. "Try to hold it back, little one," he warned, voice sounding somewhat strained. "Build it. Let your essence gather... I need all of it."

"Y-yes.." He inhaled sharply and bit his tongue, trying to hold back the need that bubbled between his thighs. All the while, he kept driving deeper, farther, faster..

With small hands, he reached up to grasp Pitch's face, then arched in for a few more kisses. "This is better..?"

"Yes..." the legs practically held Sandy captive, only allowing him enough freedom to move. I seemed that the mighty wizard wasn't entirely unaffected by all this; his sharp teeth were worrying over his lower lip and no matter how he tried to keep them back, small moans escaped him.

About another forty seconds passed; Sandy was fighting valiantly, but it was getting incredibly hard. Pitch was tensing up, murmuring something, then his eyes flew open.

"That's it little one- Release it, release everything you've got!" His gills were wide open, and his fingers dug into Sandy's shoulders painfully.

His world exploded behind his eyelids, pleasure, fear, and pain becoming something he couldn't name. It felt good, though. Really, really good. Better than good.

Sandy wailed out his release, his tail coiling up into a tight knot around Pitch's tentacle. His semen surged from his trembling cock, filling the channel around him.

A single moan signaled the wizard's release; he trembled from the wonderful shock, legs twitching. He gradually relaxed though, limbs slowly slipping off Sandy and sprawling out lazily on the bed.

"You did well, little one," Pitch praised, ruffling the golden hair.

He gazed up, beaming proudly. "So did you! You were amazing.. so beautiful.."

After a moment's hesitation, he laid his cheek atop Pitch's skinny chest. He felt amazing, so strong and sleek, dangerous.. Sandy reached out to clasp their fingers together.

Maybe he was too tired to protest, but Pitch humored him; he let the seahorse snuggle up and even draped a leg over him with a contented smile.

\----------------------

Several days have passed quietly. Nothing has changed - Pitch was doing his shadowy dealings with rare plants and animals hunted down for him by his companions; and Sandy stood behind him with a fluttering heart. His master seemed calmer than ever, even more focused on his work.

One evening, Pitch invited him into his room again. Sandy went eagerly, hoping that they were going to mate again. When his master ordered him to lay down, he just obeyed and shivered in delight when the sleek black body covered his.

“You’re such a good boy,” Pitch smiled at him. “You’re not afraid of me anymore, right? That’s good. I have noticed that you’re still presenting your pouch to me...” He dragged a hand over Sandy’s chest and belly, fingertips rubbing at the folds at the bottom.

"I can't help it," Sandy admitted. Those fingers felt so good! And they'd done wonderful things to his penis.. He reached out to stroke the outside of Pitch's arm, so very much in love that he ignored the warning bells going off in his head. "You're so beautiful."

He was starving for this attention. Since their first (and only) time mating, it was all Sandy could think about. When he wasn't assisting his master, he was off in a cove somewhere, furiously touching himself to try and recreate the sensation of love-making.

"It's quite alright," Pitch soothed, nodding in appreciation when he saw the opening widen again. "You have proved yourself as a suitable mate. So now I'm asking another favor from you." He moved further upon Sandy and kissed him deeply, while he shifted his hips until much of the pouch was covered.

His heart jumped to his throat. Was.. Pitch going to accept him as his mate? Sandy shivered, feeling like laughing and sobbing all at once. Maybe he'd earned the love of this strange, frightening creature!

Curious, Sandy looked down at himself. "What would you have me do?" And furthermore, why was Pitch so fascinated with his pouch? He nervously slid a hand between the both of them to cover himself.

His wrist was easily caught and gently pinned down next to his head just like the other. "Lay still, pet," Pitch murmured. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Something was poking at the opening. It felt weird, and it was persistent. It strained against the lips of the pouch, rubbing them, parting them... It was going to get inside.

Despite the sweet, encouraging words, Sandy wasn't comforted in the least. This wasn't supposed to happen! He didn't want anything inside!

"Stop," he whimpered, trying to pull his hips away. His tail thrashed against the bed, and immediately, Sandy regretted so easily falling for Pitch's obvious trick. "Please stop!"

"Why?" There was a hint of annoyance in the tone. "I told you I'm not going to hurt you. You're mine to use as I see fit. Why should I stop?"

"Because--" He didn't have a good reason, since Pitch could do whatever he wanted anyway. And they both knew it. But he was scared, and that thing felt far too big to fit. "It feels weird.."

"Of course it feels weird. You have never used that pouch before." Pitch grinned. "I trust you are aware why you have it. I'm just going to do what your own people do all the time." He leaned to Sandy's ears. "I'm going to lay the eggs you fertilized not that long ago. They are straining against my womb, trying to get out. They want to be inside you."

"But you're an octopus," he protested, though the idea of carrying Pitch's eggs wasn't entirely unappealing. "I'm a seahorse--your eggs will be big."

He did glance down again, hand sliding over his swollen little pouch. It had been traitorous, aching for Pitch to do this even while his mind hadn't quite caught up with the idea yet.

"I'm so glad you trust my abilities so much," Pitch rolled his eyes sarcastically. "If you die while the offspring develops in you, the offspring dies as well." His golden eyes flashed. "And I need them. I need them to be strong and healthy. My eggs are somewhat bigger than yours, they'll fit. I don't think there are going to be more than three that will develop into actual babies. And you do have quite a big pouch." He patted Sandy's belly. "You'll be able to carry them."

He wanted to say no. This was all far too much, far too fast; he wasn't very old himself, and hadn't given much thought to offspring other than that they were cute.

"...what'll happen when they're born?” he asked, peering up into Pitch's face.

"I'll raise them." Pitch glared at him. "The rest is none of your business." On his part, the conversation was over. He strained against the opening again, frowning at the tightness; but he managed to squeeze himself inside. He stopped for a breath. "There we go."

Fear coiled in his guts like one of Pitch's tentacles, and in silence, Sandy turned his head away.

He finally understood and it didn't feel very good at all. Hands curling in the sheets, he tried to make his pouch relax, but it just couldn't get used itself to the feeling of penetration. At least it didn't hurt, like he was afraid of, but he'd rather be hurt physically than have his heart ache.

Pitch wanted his pouch for babies. He said and did everything that a naive little seahorse would want to hear, just to make sure his offspring were safely carried.

But it was only to be expected... He was a dark wizard after all.

Pitch went still over him, thin lips tightening like a blade. The tips of his legs started to tremble, then they curled up into tight knots. His gills flared and oddly enough, his skin's color faded. His muscles tensed up and... he sort of... seemed to be in pain. As his fingers curled up, Sandy could feel something press against his opening again, eager to pass through. It was stretching him as it traveled through the ovipositor.

It would be easier if he didn't fight, so Sandy didn't fight. He closed his eyes and waited for it to be over, relaxing his little folds so that the fist-sized eggs could slide through. The first one was the worst. It felt like it was pushing his insides up to his throat, filling him full and stretching him out.

When it finally passed, both of the men let out a sigh. Sandy didn't move, though. He just dragged a pillow over and hid his face against it, just ready for it all to be over.

Pitch licked his lips. The eggs were swirling inside him, one straining against the opening with every contraction of his insides. Those were bad enough, but when they traveled through the ovipositor, that was even worse. He let out a low grunt as finally the second egg squeezed past, but his eyes flew open as it stopped. His muscles tensed painfully, trying to get it moving, but with no avail.

He knew what was the problem; he had to use some magic to make sure the offspring will be strong and healthy; the eggs were slightly bigger than it was normal for his species. And he was a rather slender specimen, too. This happened before, but those were imperfect eggs and he discarded them with an annoyed frown after he managed to get them out... But these... these needed to be laid and develop in that perfect little pouch, so his species won’t vanish from the oceans.

He needed to relax. Thankfully, his servant pets sensed his distress and one of them swam over, curling around Pitch’s shoulders, snuggling against him, nuzzling him, soothing him. It rubbed its slender body against its masters, gently massaging his abdomen as the contractions started again and Pitch let out a moan when the stubborn egg finally began to move, pushed by the third one.

He didn’t have the time to cheer though. The third got stuck again. And there were at least seven others inside.

Pitch opened his eyes to find Sandy watching him, his brown eyes still fearful, but now laced with concern. He hated seeing this sort of pity, when the boy was so obviously afraid of him, but there it was.

"I'm not going to push away," the seahorse murmured, reaching to cup his face. Sandy kissed him soft and slow--he wasn't sure how he knew, but Sandy was certain Pitch was too tense to do this. Perhaps it was instinct, perhaps it was common sense.

"If you lay down on me, it'll be easier." He slid his short arms around the back of Pitch's neck. He was still afraid, but was more afraid of Pitch being in pain than anything else.

Pitch merely snarled, hating the entire ocean and every creature in it starting with the stupid golden seahorse with passion at that moment. He shuddered as another wave of pain swept over him - the rest of the eggs were pressing against the one that stuck but it didn't even budge. This was going to be the a long session. His insides were cramping something awful and Pitch's gills flared wide to let him filter through enough air. "Barnacles...!"

Sandy framed his face in both hands, and with a gentle coo, drew Pitch down to press their lips together again. This was a part of his master he'd never seen before: stubborn and ridiculously proud. Gently, he trailed his fingers up and down the length of his neck, pushing in on the tense bundles of nerves.

"If you push out, it won't move." He nuzzled Pitch's cheek and kissed him again, desperate for him to relax. "If you're hiding from a shark, how do you squeeze through a narrow area? Do that now.. Breathe slow, master!"

Pitch chose not to comment; the caressing hands felt nice. The shadow-eel was still circling him too, its long 'mane' caressing his skin and the long, muscular body pressed rhythmically against Pitch's stomach. He swallowed and concentrated, willing his muscles to relax despite the pain. His heart leapt when he felt the egg move, as the others nudged it. Slowly, it traveled between them, the channel around it rippling, pushing it toward its destination, until it began to strain against the pouch lips.

He couldn't help himself. When the pressure pushed against his opening, Sandy tilted his head back with an appreciative cry. "Ohh..." While Pitch might've been in pain, the sensation of the added eggs was almost as pleasurable as making love with his precious mate and master.

Sandy reached down between them, positioning the ovipositor so it rested flush with his tiny opening, then pulling it in as far as it could go with a steady shuddering of his muscles. "That feels so good.." His kneading lowered to his shoulders, easing the trembling flesh.

There was plenty of space inside the pouch, so the organ pretty much disappeared inside, leaving about three inches still exposed between them. When Sandy grabbed it, Pitch twitched and yelped in surprise - the pleasure that resulted from the touch shocked him. Moreover, during that two seconds, the third egg finally entered the pouch and the fourth slipped to place effortlessly, already traveling through him amidst the pain of straining muscles.

"Put your hand back," Pitch ordered, his voice hoarse, "and fondle me. Carefully! The sooner I finish, the better."

With his cheeks flushed and his pouch shivering, Sandy nodded. He slipped his hand back between them, tenderly rubbing his forefinger and thumb over the delicate ovipositor. He handled it like he would his own penis, rubbing back and forth with deliberate, careful slowness. "Push another one in," he gasped, eyes clouded in lust.

The fourth just began to enter him as he said that, stretching him deliciously. Pitch couldn't keep his moans down - the pleasure and the pain together was making him dizzy. His womb squeezed the fifth egg out, and Sandy could even feel it between his fingers.

He whispered senseless encouragement, spreading his fingers wide, then pushing down slowly to help ease that thing just a little further inside. This was what all the fuss was about. Making children, carrying them, protecting them... Shuddering, he tilted his head to suck Pitch's beautiful neck.

"I'm so full, master...!" he whimpered, though his tail curled tighter around Pitch's legs.

"We're halfway through," Pitch murmured and his legs shuddered as the sixth egg began its journey. Sandy's delicate ministrations helped a great deal and the contractions came faster now, as Pitch's body sensed the lack of weight inside. Egg number seven and eight passed in rapid succession and he almost let out a relieved sigh when the ninth launched at the opening. This one was big. Bigger than the rest, a perfect, fully formed egg but Pitch tensed up again, because it was tearing him in two.

"Sssshhh.." Sandy felt along one of Pitch's legs, fingers light as feathers and just as gentle. "It's alright, master.."

He located the leg he was trying to find, one that was a little thinner than the rest and a bit shorter. With a soft groan, he hauled it up to kiss the sensitive tip, then swirled his tongue around it, trying to stimulate his penis with the most pleasurable touches he could share. "I need you to relax.."

That helped. The pain lessened and Pitch tilted his head back, letting his faithful shadow eel swirl around his neck. "Good boy... the both of you," he breathed. "Suck it, little one. Squeeze it and suck it until my seed fills your mouth."

He moaned around his mouthful, eyes sliding shut as he concentrated on making Pitch feel good. He didn't want to admit it, but each time those eggs slid inside of him, he hit his peak. And each time he gulped down some of the liquid Pitch made, it caused him to reach completion too. With his free hand, he stroked that thin tentacle; the other continued massaging the ovipositor, pulling it between his tight folds.

The pleasure built, the orgasm drew closer and Pitch didn't intend to fight it. He could barely see straight from the dangerous mixture of bliss and agony, the monster of an egg stretched him to the limit, those little fingers were doing magic... As he reached his peak, he was aware of the egg sliding through him effortlessly and entering Sandy, while the little mouth filled up with semen. The task was completed. Shuddering from the intense sensations, Pitch felt the final, much smaller egg slip through to join its brethren and then it was finally over.

Underneath him, his little egg-warmer cried out in sheer delight. He was mumbling something wild, words tumbling one over the other as his pouch finally forced itself shut. He was so full, so very full, that he was certain he was going to burst. "H-hhh... masterrrrr..." With his body trembling, he held onto Pitch as tightly as he could.

The contractions continued for a while, his insides making sure that there was nothing else in there, but it was bearable now. Pitch arranged themselves to lay on their sides, too exhausted and proud to push the seahorse away. Finally, his plans entered the final phase. There was no guarantee the eggs will indeed grow into offspring, but the odds looked good. He caressed Sandy's pouch, now full of the promise of new life.

There was a small smile on Sandy's face.

"They're moving," he whispered, his hands resting on his swollen, quivering belly. He could feel his own heartbeat, as well as those of the brood inside of him. They fluttered like angelfish, warm and safe in his body. "They're perfect, master."

"Just make sure they stay that way," Pitch suggested and kissed his pet. He'll make a fine breeder if the experiment works out. "You wouldn't want any harm to befall on our children, now do you."

When his heart raced, so did the hearts of their children. He reached over to take Pitch's wrist, and after kissing his fingertips, guided his palm over to the heated pouch. "Just as long as you promise to keep me too."

"That, I can easily do." Pitch smiled. "You're mine, forever."


	4. Steel and Stars

Rich yellow curtains billowed lightly in the breeze, filtering the bright sunlight. The entire house was cast in a soft golden glow, the marble floors and pristine white walls - where they could be seen from the various carpets and draperies - as well as the finely carved, expensive furniture. This was a rich person’s home, decorated with taste and trinkets from all over the world.

A sturdy traveling boot’s heels knocked a lively rhythm against the steps leading to the front door, followed by a slower, softer sound, bare feet brushing against marble.

The mistress of the house had good ears, and rushed out to greet the guests. She was waiting for them, and the anticipation brought some rosy tint to her cheeks.

Her small, plump body was immediately swept up from the ground by thick, strong arms and she giggled soundlessly as the beard framing his old friend’s lips tickled her skin. The tall man kissed her gently, then set her down, spinning her around.

“Time has nothing on you my dear, you look younger every time I visit!”

“Come on, you old fool,” she whispered with a mischievous smile. “I’m not getting any younger. I just have all the magic to conceal the wrinkles.”

“Nonsense!” The adventurer claimed with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “You are not old. Me neither, come to think of it. I’m quite thirsty though, so if you could bring me some of that wine hiding in your cellar, I’d be thankful. And, the lad should see his new home, too.” He pointed behind his back with his thumb, indicating a tall, thin-framed man, who stood out oddly from the golden and green surroundings with his black hair and barely tanned skin. His eyes were downcast, hands folded in front of him, and a simple steel bracelet curled around his slender right wrist, indicating his standing: slave.

“Sure, sure, come in, both of you,” the mistress invited them in. By the time she turned, a young boy with the palest hair and sparkling green eyes peeked from the corridor, as if awaiting orders. The lady’s tiny fingers began to dance in the air; the boy nodded and disappeared.

“You’ll have to tell me about your latest adventure, North,” she smiled as she led the men to the spacious drawing room. Soft cushions littered the floor and comfortable sofas invited the visitors to lounge. North settled down on one, while the slave took the floor next to him, still politely keeping his eyes down.

“There isn’t much to tell, Sandy dear,” the adventurer ran a hand through his graying hair. “The caravan didn’t run into any trouble. The bandits still remember me, it seems,” he claimed with a proud grin.

Sandy giggled again, no sound escaping her lovely lips. The wine arrived with glasses, and there was a smaller glass for the slave, too. After all, he was hers.

North happened across the wretch on one of the markets in a town he frequented. Knowing that Sandy lived alone in her large house save the mute servant boy, North figured some company would make her happy. The slave, oddly enough, was quiet and obedient, as well as a talented musician. Sandy approved of him, too, so the new slave was taken to a fine establishment, so he could learn the local language, customs, and to receive some decoration. It was a lengthy process, but now he was finally perfected and ready to serve the golden mistress.

North didn’t stay for too long; he had some matters to attend to. He kissed Sandy again as he left, playfully warned him to not spoil her new companion and was off. She was left alone with the tall man with the midnight hair.

She walked back to him, and gently tipped his chin up. “It’s been a long time, Pitch,” she whispered. “Were they nice to you? Are you fully healed?”

His bright golden eyes moved to the right, avoiding eye contact and fixing up and over her left shoulder. He'd taken to careful instruction, it seemed, and sat perfectly motionless, back straight, just like a well-behaved pet. "I learned very much, mistress," he replied, his voice low as thunder. "I was grateful to learn how to serve you."

With long, spidery fingers, he parted his robe down the middle, to expose alabaster skin for her inspection. His nipples were speared in silver, a delicate chain with a light medallion dangling between. The fronts of his shoulders were inked in beautiful spirals, marking him as belonging to someone of the highest class. "Does this meet your approval?"

She smiled, golden brown eyes lighting up. "It does, very much!" She ran careful fingertips over the tattoos." They did a wonderful job - it's so sharp! I hope it didn't hurt you too bad." She took the medallion. "This might have to be replaced though. I'll make something more fitting. Silver isn't your color." She moved to sit on the couch, arranging the folds of her dress. The thin, see-through fabric, albeit it covered a lot of skin, didn't hide much from her luscious body, only what was necessary to maintain modesty.

"I don't know how much North or your caretakers told you about me," she whispered. "Now that you belong to me, you have to know that I'm not cruel. Unless you give me a serious reason, I won't punish you. Rules are few and the work is easy... And if you'd like to ask anything, please go ahead. I'm not going to be angry, no matter what you'd like to know."

He closed his robe then lowered his hands into his lap. He had accepted his fate, she was certain, but he still looked so very lost. His face was schooled into a blank, neutral expression (which was no less lovely), yet his eyes were tormented enough that it made her chest ache. He was afraid of her.

"I haven't any questions, mistress. I am pleased to serve you."

"I can't be that scary," Sandy tilted her head to the side, golden ringlets tumbling over her bare shoulder. "There's still some wine - fill my glass please. If you don't want to know me, fine. I want to know you though. What's your full name? Where are you from? North said you didn't protest much, why was that?"

He rose silently, save for the delicate jingling of charms clasped to his ears and fingers. For a slave, he looked regal as a prince! "Apologies, mistress," he answered slowly, taking the decanter of wine and stepping to her side. He filled it for her without making even a tiny splash. "I am very interested in my mistress and am eager to know everything."

After moving her cup within reach, he placed the larger container of wine down and knelt on the floor in front of her. "My full name is unworthy of your tongue. I am from one of the northern countries, so the pronunciation will be unpleasant. I am happy with my new name." Pitch spoke like he was reciting a poem, low voice deadened by monotone. "As for my absence of struggling, I am not one to fight fate."

She took a sip and her lips tightened. "Your fate is in your own hands right now," she whispered sternly. "You are not going to be mine much longer if you have no life in you. Lord North wasn't out to buy me a mindless pet, he wanted me to have company, and I have no use of a dead man. If they broke you, your place is not in my household."

His left eyebrow twitched. It was a faint gesture, but she caught it before he hid himself behind a silent mask again. "Your country could not break me if the king itself wished to try." His tone still remained quiet, but there was a hint of acid behind it. "I was broken before your large man ever paid a handful of coins for me. If you are unhappy with this, I will make myself scarce."

She took another sip then placed the goblet aside. "See, no need to pretend." She kneeled in front of him, seized his right hand and pressed a fingertip against the bracelet. She closed her eyes, murmured something, and a tiny light flared up under her finger. The steel snapped in two the next moment.

"There you go. Nobody is supposed to be with me for any other reason than because we both want it. The bracelet is off, you're free to go if you want to. I don't know your fate, but I trust that you can fulfill it on your own."

He looked absolutely dumbfounded.

"..why did you do that?"

"Because as little I need a man without his will, I need a slave even less." She shrugged lightly, long earrings jingling. "I can see to most of my needs, and the temple boy loves to be my servant, when he's not attending to his duties. We understand each other very well. If you'd like to, you can be my other servant. If I can't make you obey me, I'll just send you away." She pulled back, playing with her long necklace. "When I first saw you, I thought you handsome. I don't want you to leave me, but I don't believe in caging a man or beast." She looked up. "A cage is no fate. That's an obstacle, and I'd gladly remove it."

He looked to the broken bracelet in his hands, the split already cooled from her tiny display of magic. She'd never seen a man look so incredibly awed before. His golden eyes swam in confusion, amazement, perhaps, and finally, he curled his hands around it. "..I did not fight because I have nowhere to return to."

Pitch slid his wrist between the broken halves. He held his arm out, hand squeezing the fragments together. "I was hoping it would be my fate to die here. But since you will not end my life, allow me to give it to you instead."

That obviously surprised her. She kneeled up, taking Pitch's face between her hands. "You wanted to die?" she inquired on her quiet voice. "What broke you enough that life itself became a nuisance?" On second thought, she took the broken bracelet and placed it aside. "I'll do something about that later. Sit with me as a free man and speak as one."

He leaned into her hands like he was starving for contact. His flesh was cool and smooth, more like marble than ice; he broke his newly-acquired knowledge by staring up into her eyes. The bright saffron looked dimmed and miserable. "I was a soldier, close as a brother to my emperor. When our kingdom fell, I and my comrades were sold like livestock to our conquering army; I have lost everything."

She gently pulled him down, cradling his head to her bosom and petting his hair. "I can't even imagine your pain," she whispered into his ear, "But I know it is great. To have no home must be terrible. Like a tree uprooted and left for the worms. My house would always be a sanctuary for you, I promise. " She caressed his face, tiny fingers mapping out his prominent cheekbones. "You were a soldier... You could be my bodyguard. My house holds riches and secrets alike as well as my mind, and some do not approve."

"Certainly a kind lady such as yourself would have no need for a bodyguard," he replied. His hair was soft as raven's wings, breath coming slow and sweet across the silk covering her breasts. Pitch's eyes drifted closed, and for the first time since she'd met him, she felt him relax. "But if I make you feel safe, I will be happy to offer my services."

"Aren't you curious why I never raise my voice...?"

Underneath her fingers, his cheeks flushed pink. "I thought it was a habit."

Her hands went to the nape of her neck, to undo the knot on the scarf she was wearing despite the warm weather. As the golden silk fell, a scar became visible; a neat, clean like standing out on her skin like a necklace. The trained eye could easily identify it: somebody tried to cut that soft throat.

"People disapprove of anything what's not to their liking. Thank the moon and the sun that my magic doesn't depend on my voice."

He sat back on his calves, regarding that mark with a furrowed brow and a tight frown. "Someone tried to take your life.."

His fingers were gentle, so very gentle, as they traced over that raised skin. It was still sensitive, but he did not push in hard enough to hurt.

"They failed." Her smile had a bit of a proud edge. Her plump body shivered though as he touched her and she shifted a bit. She placed her hand on his, barely touching. "I've been alone most of my life and learned to sleep light and be alert. But it's tiring."

He murmured something in a soft, lilting language, the words rapid and crisp as he suddenly breached their personal boundaries. Hands resting on either side of her neck, he guided her chin up with his thumbs. "May I watch over you? I prefer to spend much of my waking time at night," he murmured, before pressing his lips to the cut.

She gasped, immediately tilting her head back although her hands flew to his shoulders, lightly pushing at him. Pitch could feel her swallow deeply and as he pulled away, she was blushing.

"Y-yes, that would be good." She tied the scarf back hastily. She took a deep breath and smiled, with a hint of shyness. "Let me show you your room. I'll go rework the bracelet, and until dinner, you can rest, wash and explore the house. If a door is closed, leave it be; I might let you in later." She took his hand. "You'll be dining with me and we'll talk more then."

\------------

They had many a dinner after that, over a dozen; the meals weren’t exceptionally lavish, but still plentiful and delicious. Rich red wine was served with it by the mute boy. Lady Sandy hugged him with a fond smile every time and released him for the rest of the night.

Despite her hushed voice, she was a great conversationalist, gently asking about Pitch’s past and listening to the answers intently. The dark man told about his friend and king, the beautiful palace and the harsh winters Sandy never saw before, living at a much warmer climate. Pitch, perceptive as he was noticed quickly that she was keeping a polite distance but her eyes sparkled, and not just from the consumed alcohol.

At the second week’s end, when the last morsels of the dessert were cleared up and the bottle was empty as well, she went to take a bath. Pitch already knew that this country had plumbing in the houses, something he wasn’t quite familiar with (but found himself liking it). At most homes, water needed to be warmed by fire - Lady Sandy’s bathroom, however, operated with magic.

He was more than a little surprised though when she motioned him to follow. She wanted him to assist her...?

It definitely looked like that when Sandy undressed, the low lights hiding most of her blush. After putting her hair up and parting from her jewelry as well, she stepped into the shallow, small pool, sank into the water and motioned for a delicate ceramic pot sitting on a long clothes chest shoved next to the wall.

Even under layers of clothing, the nonrestrictive robes left him feeling quite naked. He was already accustomed to seeing her bare body underneath the sheer silks she wore, but it was nothing compared to this. She was lovely. Her round, supple form spoke of riches and pleasures a common man could only dream of--but Pitch was lower than a common man, according to his slave status. Quietly, he lifted the pot and carried it over, kneeling behind her so he could set it down with a soft 'clink'.

"How else may I serve you, mistress?"

"Just sit there, and bring me if I need something. Say, if I get you an instrument, would you delight me with your talent?" The pot contained a thick, buttery substance she began to smear over her skin. Her body swayed with her movements, round breasts jiggling. The cosmetic had a lovely, sweet scent that suited her perfectly.

His mouth watered. It was just because of that scent, though, not the inviting curves of her body or the skillful touch of her hands over her skin. He was jealous, but that wouldn't make sense, now would it?

"It would be my pleasure." When she was finished lathering herself up, he took the pot and carried it back to its place.

"How do you like my house?" she inquired curiously, pouring a handful of water over her breasts and massaging the buttery soap into her skin - thankfully, she turned halfway, so Pitch wasn't subjected to the most irresistible display ever. "You're welcome to come and go within the walls as you please. When I need you, I'll call and don't worry about not hearing me. I've taken care of that. Just don't make a mess, that is all. Cleaning up is not my favorite activity."

"Your home is beautiful." He knelt down on both knees, hands in his lap, and stared at the floor. He wanted to sink his teeth into her shoulders and chest, to jerk her hands away so he could wash her himself, feel her skin, smell her.. "But if you'll excuse my saying so, you're the strangest slave owner I've ever encountered. Why are you so lax with me?"

Sandy smiled and she began to wash the foam off. "You offered your life to me... It's quite a gift, you see, a life. I feel like I have to repay it somehow." She fell silent for a while, wiping the bubbles from her shoulder, then she shifted, sinking further into the water. To Pitch's slight relief, only the top of her breasts were visible now.

"I don't think I should restrain my bodyguard. You have to be everywhere, knowing the territory, right? You should explore the city as well."

"Forgive me, but I wouldn't feel right leaving you alone while I go wandering." To prove his point, he reached out to brush his fingertips over the scar across her throat. That was all he would do, despite the fact that her breast was just within reach. All he had to do was grab one and squeeze, to make her moan...

"Are you planning on hovering over my shoulder wherever I go?" she asked with amusement glittering in her eyes. She pushed Pitch's hand away, but the motion was slow and gentle, not an outright rejection.

"Is that not what a bodyguard is intended to do?" He pulled his hand away and scooted back to a pillow he assumed was for him. Carefully, he seated himself. "How else can I keep an eye on you? You are a bit.. diminutive. I would lose you in a crowd, if you catch my drift."

"Oh, if I go out, I'd expect you to be there, of course. It wasn't a habit of mine though... but maybe now." She mulled that over, then smiled at Pitch. "I think I'm done here. Fetch me a towel please? Left side of the chest." She rose, like a goddess from the waves, water trickling down on her skin.

Obediently, he unfolded himself from his pillow and crossed over to fetch the towel. He held it open for her, patient as a father waiting on his child. "You would never notice I was there. My people are notorious for being quiet watchers."

"You have many little secrets," she nodded, rubbing herself dry. "It's going to be a delight to discover them." For a minute, she ignored Pitch and she fetched a loose, thin robe to cover herself. Then she motioned for him to follow. "Come, I'd like to show you something."

The trek was short; they entered the drawing room, but Sandy opened a door that was firmly shut until this. A small room was revealed, furnished with nothing more than a large, comfortable divan with heavy drapes stretched out over it, the fabric cascading to the floor; a small, low table with a beautiful glass device on it and a carved stand as tall as her with a large, pale orb on top. When Sandy tapped at it with a murmur, it began to glow, casting some soft light over the interior.

Sandy ran her fingers over the tall glass fondly, then she drew a rune into the air and the piece of coal - if Pitch guessed right what it was - resting on the tall device’s top began to glow. She settled down, and beckoned to him. "Come, let us talk a little more. I'm not sleepy yet. I tend to work late when it's peaceful and cool, so we're similar in that regard."

His kind were rarely thought of as any more than uncivilized criminals, but in fact, they were a race with a rich history and meaningful customs. They treasured silence over speaking, peace sought after more than riches or comfort. It was for these reasons that he was happy here; the manner was quiet and soothing, just like he'd been raised to crave.

Pitch followed after, eyes lowered. If this was some place close to her heart, he didn't need to stare like some child. He settled down on the floor beside her, legs crossed.

"You don't even need to always behave like a slave, you know," Sandy scowled slightly. "Sit with me, not on the floor. Then again..." she tapped her chin thoughtfully. "If you insist on being a slave, that'd mean that you have to answer my questions. But by all means, you don't have to." She pulled herself up into a little ball, golden hair tumbling over her shoulder. Her robe hid everything, for a change.

"Did you have a sweetheart back home...?" The question was gentle, almost apologetic.

He was grateful to sit beside her, but sometimes it was a little easier for him to behave like he'd been taught. That way, he could ignore how it felt when she fixed those soulful brown eyes on him, and how it made his stomach ache in longing. "I did. She passed with the war."

He settled down on the divan, back straight, hands in his lap, and eyes on that strange device.

Sandy immediately moved forward, seizing his hand a squeezing it. "I'm sorry," she pleaded. "I did not want to pry. I've never lost a lover, but I can understand your pain." Her eyes were sincere. "Forgive me being overly curious."

He smiled softly, though it didn't touch his eyes. "She was spared from seeing what our country became. I am grateful for that."

Sandy lightly caressed his face and pulled back, reaching for the tall glass. A thin hose was attached to it, which ended in a smooth piece of carved amber, reminiscent of the mouthpiece of a pipe. The assumption proved to be true when Sandy took it between her lips, then inhaled smoke.

"That's what I smell on you--" He said it before thinking. Sometimes she emerged from one of her rooms wrapped in fragrant smoke that made his pulse race. It was a sweet, thick scent that clouded his mind, but he found he didn't mind in the least.

"Ladies don't usually smoke," Sandy remarked," But I think you already know that I'm not like most ladies. Do you know it? North brought it for me as a gift from a long trip of his. It was actually broken by the time I got to unwrap it." She giggled soundlessly. "Thankfully I can repair things quite easily."

"I have seen one before, but I'm not certain what it's called." This time when he smiled, he felt it warm his heart. "I'm grateful to have such a lovely mistress, whether she is a lady or not."

"Thank you," she smiled back. "It's called water pipe, but the native name for it, I think is 'hookah'. I have a special blend to smoke... It's not quite tobacco. The smoke is fragrant, it tastes nice, and it calms the nerves most marvelously. Would you like to try?" She offered the mouthpiece to Pitch.

His brows furrowed, but he reached for the delicate mouthpiece. It couldn't hurt--she wouldn't do anything to hurt herself or to hurt him, right? "Thank you.."

Pitch held it to his lips. He could taste her mouth on it still, something like sugared milk registering on his tongue. If that's what it was like to kiss her...

He inhaled slowly. The smoke filled his mouth and slid down his throat like silk. "Mmm.."

"Can you feel it?" She scooted closer, and he noticed that the robe opened a little at the chest. "It's so relaxing. You need that." She stole the mouthpiece back and inhaled, blowing the smoke toward the ceiling. Her pursed lips glistened like cherries dipped in sugar syrup. "It'll ease your mind... and hopefully loosen your tongue. I keep asking and asking, and it feels off that you never ask back."

"I don't feel worthy." He laid his head back, mind swimming already. The smoke was potent, that was for sure. His long fingers stretched, then fell onto the table as he took a few deep breaths to try and clear his mind. "It isn't any of my business as to why you are unwed, or why you have entertained no lovers since I've arrived."

She stirred and began to fiddle with the mouthpiece. "I have... never had a lover, you see."

With deft fingers, he snatched the mouthpiece and set the mouthpiece between his teeth. He liked the smoke and didn't think she'd mind. After taking a deep breath, he tilted his head back so he could concentrate on making a ring when he exhaled. "A man-friend, then. Or a fling. A beau."

She lost focus on the words for a moment, because she was admiring his trick with wide eyes. "I, um-" She blinked and gathered her thoughts. "I don't have many friends. North is dearest to my heart, but we're like brother and sister. Aster is holed up in his tower all the time. And princess Toothiana is a girl. I don't go out much... My reputation is a little... questionable, I think, so I don't really have suitors... Those few who tried got tired by my rejection far too easily." She attempted to blow a smoke ring as well, but failed and that made her pout adorably. "When I was a lot younger, I used to serve at the temple."

Certainly she couldn't be serious. Pitch laid his head back, regarding her with half-lidded eyes. After a moment, he offered the pipe back to her, but did not remove his hand when she took it. He wanted to see if she would suck smoke while he held it. "You're a virgin."

She simply nodded. "Yes." Her soft fingers curled around his, and her lips wrapped around the amber.. Her eyes closed, dark lashes resting against golden cheeks.

He wished very much to brush some of the hair from her forehead, but restrained himself. This smoke made him think very strange things. "Why don't you take your temple boy?"

She giggled, eyeing Pitch with half-closed eyes. "Because he works at the temple. Because he's a child. And because..." She looked away, a dreamy expression on her face. She placed her hand over the scar on her throat then slid it down over her chest until it rested above her heart. "Because I was told by the Oracle that there is a man somewhere, with stars in his eyes who is meant for me. I'm waiting for him to come."

Pitch snorted. "And just where are you supposed to find such a man?" He inhaled deeply again and let his eyes slide shut finally.

"You could have anyone. It is a shame that you hide yourself away. You should have a husband and children to bring you joy."

There was no reply, just a faint sound only audible because of the silence covering the room. When Pitch cracked an eye open, he noticed something on her cheeky, glittering like crystals...

Tears.

Her lips pressed together firmly, but they were trembling, the lovely eyes spilling over with wetness and her shoulders shook. He buried her face into her hands and her body hunched over, wrecked by silent sobs.

"Mistress..?"

His voice stuck a little from the thick smoke, but her sorrow was real enough to penetrate his momentary stupor. Without waiting for orders, he crossed to the other side of the divan and slid his arms around her shoulders. "Forgive me.. I did not intend to offend you." Gently, he swiped his thumb over her cheeks, mopping up those delicate tears. "Mistress.."

"I don't want to die like this!" she cried, clinging to him. "I want to be a wife and a mother, I want to be loved! Every night I wish for a hand to touch me..." She looked up, eyes full of despair. "But who can I trust...? I have riches and power, and that is what most would seek, and not me."

"You have a kind heart and a beautiful soul," he cradled her face, berating himself inwardly for being so thoughtless with his words. Pitch always thought she was happy with this life, assuming it was a choice. "You could have a good man, my mistress."

"I just hopes one day, he shows up at my door." She sniffled and caressed his face. "You are so kind, Pitch. And you have beautiful eyes." She leaned her head on his chest. "I like your hands, too. They're strong, yet gentle."

He tilted his head to the side, kissing her pudgy little palm, then nuzzling into her touch. "I will do everything I can to find your man with stars in his eyes. I wish for your happiness, mistress."

It wasn't fair that she should be alone and afraid. She deserved to be happy, after all the kindness she had shown him.

They sat there for a little while, the sweet scent of the smoke curling around them; then Sandy straightened, waved a hand at the hookah, extinguishing the coal on top and looked up at Pitch. There was determination in her eyes and some defiance.

“Until we find that man...” Her fingers curled into his robe. “Will you love me? Could you love me? My body is a virgin’s, but my mind isn’t. And it’s not fun to be alone.”

"It is impossible not to love you," he answered gently. It was true. From the moment he laid eyes on her sweet face and felt her tiny hand in his, he adored her. And through the weeks that followed, he found himself drawn close to her side, where his heart swelled as she spoke, smiled, and moved. "I will do my very best to ease your pain until you find he who is worthy to your heart."

There was a pause. Sandy tilted her head to the side a little, obviously contemplating an idea. "Well. I don't care much about my reputation, anyway." She tugged Pitch down by the hem of his robe, until their eyes were at the same level. "Pleasure me," she told him. "And yes, you can take it as an order, if you're not up to it. You can't take my virginity, and if you do, I'll kill you. But I want to know how it feels to be touched by a man."

He swallowed hard, dizziness rushing up to his head so that it was hard to visually focus for a moment. Pitch had wanted to put his hands on her for some time now. Now, she was offering herself to him so freely, dangling his desires right in reach.

"I'd never take it as an order, mistress," he breathed, eyelids lowered and lips parted as arousal built deliciously in his belly. Without another word, he took her by the waist and crushed her to him, hungrily licking her lips apart.

For a virgin, she proved to be a surprisingly good kisser. She wound her arms around his neck, wiggling in his lap. Her breasts were soft and felt nice against his chest. When she got out of breath, she gently bit Pitch's lower lip, then offered her throat to him. "I know that I can trust you," she breathed between soft pants. "Love me, my guardian...!"

He lunged for her neck, lips and tongue making love to the raised scar tissue that marked her. For just a little while, she would be his. Pitch could touch her and enjoy her while he taught her all he knew--and when her beautiful stranger took her away, at least he'd have this.

At the thought, he sank his fingers into her supple ass and hauled her close. Her short legs were wrapped around him, hot sex crammed against his body, and he groped her like she was little more than a whore. "I've wanted to have you like this," he hissed into her ear, "For so very long."

"And yet you never tried," she murmured fondly. "Not even when you had all the chance. I was at your mercy, and you didn't lay a finger on me. Whatever your lips and hands can do to me, they are allowed to." She crushed her lips against his to seal the pact.

"Are you disappointed?" He seized her lower lip between his teeth and sucked, tasting sweet smoke. "I have been patient, my mistress."

He shoved her onto her back and seized her delicate robe, jerking it open to bare every inch of her curved body. "So very patient."

Hands dropping to her breasts, he kneaded them firmly. She was warm, soft, so pliant under his fingers.

Her damaged vocal chords couldn't produce moans, merely gasps and pants, but she was gasping indeed and arched into his touch. "Your patience is just reaping its reward," she pointed out.

Her supple thighs were pressed together and her cheeks were flushed, but she made no attempt to stop Pitch.

He took one breast between his lips, and with a steady pressure, suckled the nipple 'til it stood erect in his mouth. His palm wandered over her belly, admiring the smooth contours of her skin and the eroticism it radiated.  
"You don't have to be afraid," he soothed, as his hand stroked her tight thighs, "I promised to leave you intact. Just let me enjoy you."

He brushed her pubis with his knuckles, shuddering as he realized just how hot she was down there.

White teeth worrying over her lower lip, she placed her hands over his. Her thighs slowly relaxed, sliding apart, and she smoothed Pitch's fingers over her folds. Her whole body shuddered from the sensation and her eyes fluttered shut

He touched her softly, rotating his wrist so he could slide his fingertips across the seam of her sex. Her lips were puffy and full, flushed from arousal; he could faintly make out the scent of her fluids, which did little to help clear his head.

With a sigh, Pitch rubbed his cheek over her breasts and settled down against her. Slowly, he petted this precious area, never once trying to intrude. "You're so eager," he purred teasingly.

"Any virgin at my age would be." Sandy cuddled close, glad to have something solid to hold onto. "Your fingers feel nice... You can make me come like this, right? I know you can. Please Pitch..." she cupped his face gently. "Take me to the peak. It's.. It's so much better when somebody else does it." She turned her head and glanced back at him from the corner of her eyes. "You can suck my breasts, too... I like that."

Another kiss to her mouth, and he nuzzled his face between her full breasts, relishing in their heavy warmth. As he sucked patches of skin into his mouth, his fingers dipped low to stroke across her wet opening.

Once they were nice and slick, he spread her lips with his forefinger and ring finger, then pushed over her hidden clit with the middle. At the first touch to her, he gently slurped her nipple back into his mouth.

She twitched at first, but her thighs spread further apart and her hips bucked. "Oh Pitch..." She gulped, breasts lifting nicely with each hurried breath. "Don't hold back. I want it."

He obeyed with gusto, flicking the pebbled bundle of nerves with the tip of his finger. His teeth pressed down into her breast as he rubbed her, keeping her clitoris helplessly exposed without her chubby lips to hide it.

She reacted beautifully, skin flushing, sounds of arousal trying to break free but only strained whispers escaped. She was biting her finger, golden curls splaying out against the dark plush they were laying on; her free hand fisted into his hair almost painfully, but every time he attempted to pull back from her nipple, she pushed him back, wordlessly begging for more.

After a delightful ten minutes, her eyes flew open and she gasped sharply, digging her heels into the bed and she came. Her muscles tensed and Pitch knew that she would have screamed from pleasure; she sort of was, in fact.

As the orgasm ebbed away, she relaxed, laying under him boneless and soft, almost glowing. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she was smiling brighter than ever. "Thank you. Thank you! You lifted me straight into the heavens!"

Pitch returned that smile with the sort of pride that only a man in his position could understand. He'd delivered, and she was appreciative of it. "I hope it was to your liking. I certainly enjoyed it."

At his words, an interesting, slightly hungry spark flared up in her eyes. Sandy pushed him away gently and sat up. "I'd like to see you naked. You always wear the robes, and they cover your tattoos and nipples. And I want to see your penis." She was like a curious little girl, eager to see what her daddy brought her from the long trip.

Pitch shuddered and sat back, his heart thumping fast in his chest. He didn't count on her wanting to reciprocate, but he wasn't at all surprised, considering her enthusiasm for everything else. He opened his robe and let it fall from his shoulders, showing off the dark tattoos and shining gold body jewelry--courtesy of Mistress Sandy, of course.

He never wore anything beneath (they lived in a hot climate, afterall), so she had only to glance down to see his swollen penis standing at attention between his legs.

Her eyes went wide with awe. "It's so- long!" She scooted closer, sitting on her calves (thighs politely closed again, he noted), and reached out to touch. "I have seen a few- They tend to look like their owners it seems!" Her fingers wrapped around the shaft carefully, squeezing it a little. "Long, slender, like marble.. and so hard and hot!" She grinned mischievously. "Looks like you find me attractive."

He flinched at her touch but did not jerk away. If she wanted to squeeze, she could squeeze. "No hot-blooded man in his right mind could resist you after what I just saw," he answered, digging his fingertips into the divan cushion.

She pulled her neck between her shoulders, with an adorable shy smile. “You’re such a nice man, Pitch. I really want to... thank you for that. I want to make you feel good.” Her eyes sparkled and she began to tug on the shaft carefully. “I hope you don’t mind-?”

She might've been inexperienced, but that didn't have any effect on how good he was feeling. Her hands, tiny as they were, felt like they were all over him at once. "I am always grateful for your attentions, mistress--" he hissed between clenched teeth.

Sandy appeared to be quite pleased with herself. "I expect you to stop me if I'm too demanding," she declared then without a warning, she leaned down and sucked the head into her mouth. It was a bit large for her to use enough tongue, but she did suck, then released the hard flesh and licked the tip only to suck on it again. She sought out his testicles too, rolling them in her palm.

He'd never encountered a woman as demanding as Sandy was, but it didn't bother him in the least. Pitch gladly accepted her warm mouth, his insides boiling nicely as she took him in as far as he could go. "I am happy to cater to your demands."

Eyelids falling to half-mast, he leaned back into the seat and let his legs sprawl open. She was treating his genitals as gingerly as jewels. He'd never received such attention before.

She continued spoiling him for a while, then stopped. She kissed him passionately then pushed him further back, straddling his waist. His erection was nudging against her fleshy buttocks now.

His cock twitched, and he had to stop himself from thrusting up to find her sweet, dripping hole. With her steady weight over him, it was a difficult task indeed.

Biting down on the outside of his hand, he took a few frenzied breaths to try and calm himself down. "Mistress, please not like that--don't tempt me, please..!"

She blinked. "Oh..." She scooted forward atop him, rubbing his chest. "I'm sorry... I didn't think of that. You're most remarkable. So disciplined..." She drifted off for a moment. What if- What if the Oracle was wrong? What if she could have anybody, and still be happy? Pitch was handsome, kind, strong... and he really liked her.

But she was holding on to that prophecy for a long time, she wasn't able to just let go. They had plenty of time anyway; with a little luck, Pitch wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

She slipped off him and settled down between his legs. "Was I doing well? I can continue."

The blissful heat moved away. While his body shrieked in displeasure, his mind and conscience sighed in relief. If she remained on top of him for too long, there would only be so much he could do.

"You were doing well, milady," he answered in strained tones, his arm over his eyes and hand white knuckled in the cushion beside him. "I won't last much longer, so I hope I don't disappoint."

"You've already done your part," she assured him and resumed to giving the slender penis the proper attention. She didn't shy away from licking up the pearly drops trickling down, though Pitch had a feeling it was going to take a while for her to get used to it. Regardless, the mistress bathed him with her tongue, her lips caressing the flesh lovingly; she even used her hand for a more complete experience.

He could only bear to look at her every now and again, for the sight of her tending to him was too decadent for more than a passing glance. She was concentrating on her task, licking and tasting him like she was a harem girl instead of a noblewoman; her fingers were splayed over him, and that tongue..!

Pitch arched into the sofa, legs trembling as his orgasm built. "Y-yes.. Oh, please let me finish, mistress!"

"No," she breathed. Sandy sat up straight and pressed Pitch's trembling erection flat against his stomach; she rubbed it gently with her palm, fingers spread and she seized the heavy testicles again. "I want to do that." There was a hint of childish defiance in her hushed tone. Her fingers tightened around the jewels.

Breath hitching, he clawed at anything he could reach. He was helpless to her whims and liked it; she knew she was in absolute control of him and she liked it too.

Planting his heels, he humped up into her hand. His testicles were tight, swollen in need, and under her nimble little fingers, he came undone.

Pitch's legs were spread wide, thighs shaking as his semen shot up into the air. It came down in fat drops on his stomach and legs, some managing to make it up to his chest.

She was up on him, whispering in his ear. "Stay here, I'll be back." Then her presence was gone, but Pitch found it hard to move, anyway. He didn't have to wait long, either. She was back in a minute or two and gently cleaned him with a wet cloth. Once finished, she pressed against his side, caressing his neck.

"Your eyes glow when you reach completion," she told him. "And you're so attractive when you lay naked on my bed, shaking from pleasure. Can you show me other things, too?"

He was in such a daze of pleasure that it took him a few seconds longer than usual to realize he hadn't died and gone to heaven. "Of course," Pitch answered softly, muscles still thrumming in the afterglow, "I will teach you everything that I know, so long as you will keep me."

Sweet-tasting lips pressed against his and Lady Sandy bumped their foreheads together. "As things are, I'd say I'll be keeping you forever."


	5. Love Divine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains much religious mumbo-jumbo, but this is a fantasy story, not a historical one. Thank you for keeping that in mind!

"'Tis a queer sort o' thing," Aster spat, leaning on the handle of his shovel as he mopped his brow with the back of his arm.

Pitch arched a brow. It was a humid day, the sort that made one's clothes stick to the body like a second skin. Overhead, the clouds were dark with the promise of rain, but they had been threatening for days now, never with any actual downpour. The cracked earth needed it. Too many bodies were hot with anger and lust; too many bodies were bloated, stinking with decay. "I assume you're referring to the weather."

"Aye."

Sweat poured down the back of his neck, but Pitch didn't make a show of wiping it away. He never made a show of anything.

Aster's eyes were on his back, then he continued to speak and dig. "Ever since they locked that strange fella away, it ain't rained a drop."

"Hm."

"Nothin's been right since he went to trial."

Ah, the trial--Pitch didn't personally attend, but he received daily updates from gossiping women and horrified men, all of whom were morbidly fascinated with tales of homosexual affairs, secret writings, and strange beliefs of the disgraced nobleman Sanderson Mansnoozie. He'd been arrested months ago after reports of indecent behavior, and after a lengthy prison stay, he became the center of the wildest court proceeding of their day.

"Men like him deserve to hang," Pitch recited as he stepped around the undertaker, narrowly avoiding a blow from his strong elbow when Aster drew the shovel back a bit too hard.

"Ah know, ah know. Abominations an' all that."

For a few moments, all was quiet in the prison graveyard. Nothing was marked. These men, these criminals, didn't deserve that luxury. Their bodies were burned down and dumped in a pit that Aster covered with stinking dirt whenever it grew too full.

"People're talkin'."

"They always talk."

Aster shook his head. "It's different. They callin fer mercy this time." The shovel penetrated the quiet earth again. "Lotsa lasses sayin' it's not a sin t' love. I even heard some menfolk sayin' it too."

"And you believe it?" Pitch Black paused near his shed, a strange sensation replacing the anger that should've been immediate.

He could've easily ended up like the odd man they spoke of, locked away and awaiting death in a stifling heat, with the promise of hellfire thereafter. But he repented. He stepped away from the temptation and delivered sinners to the Lord in hopes of earning his own salvation someday.

Aster shrugged. "I believe that more'n his bein' a witch--er sorcerer er warlock, whatever they callin' him now." His only companion close enough to be considered a friend, Aster 'Mund had bucked front teeth, a gravelly voice, and the grizzled features of a man raised by some creature of the forest. He couldn't have been much older than Pitch, but was prematurely grey and far too lined for a younger man. "What a lad does in his own home is his own business. He ain't hurtin' nobody, so let him bugger all he wants. Jus' keep him away from my ass."

Kozmotis snorted and selected a thinner rope from his inventory. "No one would want your ass, even a depraved fiend like this Mansnoozie."

Aster swore at him, but laughed a bit too. "Ya goin' now?" Pitch nodded. "Mate, I don' understand why ya do this. A rope's a rope. It'll either break his neck or choke 'im, why ya need to measure?"

"You said yourself he weighed more than a pig," Kozmotis answered, twirling the rope around his hands and pulling it tight, "I need to be certain I'll have enough."

"Yer a mean sunnuvabitch, Pitch Black."

\--------------------------

Since becoming executioner, Black kept his cells empty and quite clean. The prisoners were not to feel comfortable here. They were to know how temporary their stays would be, so Pitch made it a point to erase all proof of their existence after he delivered them to hell.

Though the hall was a bit cooler than outside, the air was still stagnant and thick, making his eyelids heavier with every step he took. So, by the time he arrived at the last cell, he unlocked the door as if in a dream and stepped into the realm of pure fantasy.

A small, golden-haired creature sat neatly on an unforgiving cot made of wood and stone, still as radiant as any royalty even in his prison grays. He was a tiny man, shorter than a petite woman, with little hands and feet that swam in the stained fabric.

His face was cherubic and round, begging in whispers to have the bruised cheeks kissed. Beneath his wide-set brows and thick lashes, his eyes were warm as bubbling chocolate.

Sanderson Mansnoozie, an abomination, a heretic, and a dead man, looked up at him and smiled.

Pitch felt a lump in his throat.

"I suppose that's for me," the lad offered slowly, his accent speaking of high education and intelligent thought. "You're the angel of death, come to spirit me away?"

“Some might call me that,” Pitch nodded, a little belatedly, because by some reason, the words and even the breath caught in his throat as he looked into those lovely eyes. The hated but familiar feeling of fire flaring up in his belly while frost creeping up his spine nearly made him take a step back. But he steeled himself and approached.

“I’d like to make sure everything goes well tomorrow.” He said that every time. Sometimes he said it with a little regret because despite being an executioner, he respected life; but right now, he felt like a criminal himself, a horrible sinner. Beads of sweat were forming at his temple.

The wretch's smile never faded. It warmed the corners of his eyes, deepening into dimples that would never get a chance to age into laugh lines.

"I respect a man who takes pride in his work." Sanderson pushed himself to his feet, and by some feat of ridiculous sorcery, he appeared even shorter. He was the perfect size to be hoisted up and kissed, or held tight long into the morning. "My name is Lord Sanderson Mansnoozie," he announced with a polite bow. Then after a thought: "Well.. Just Sanderson Mansnoozie now."

He looked to the rope in Pitch's hands, and though his expression didn't change, his color drained a little. "What would you have me do?"

For a few long moments, there was no reply aside the oddly heavy breathing of the executioner. Inwardly, his mind was racing though, replaying memories vividly.

The fragrant spring night after the bonefire faded. The thin, almost boyish frame of the little orphan girl arching against his, the taste of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes. He had the eagerness of a boy of fifteen and she had nothing and nobody beside him and her love for him. Pitch remembered the sensation, the storm that swept him away, her voice that was hushed but still made him shiver.

He also remembered what happened when they came across them sleeping in each other's arms. He remembered that they shaved her long black hair, and the sound whipping he got was not something to easily forget, either.

He also remembered the boy with the eyes as clear blue as the laughing summer sky. He remembered his hands, his ringing laughter and how they huddled together against winter's cold. He was thin, but there was strength in his body and his white skin felt hot beneath his palms.

He could recall the gallows too on which the blue-eyed boy's motionless body dangled from in the hail. The tears almost froze to his cheeks and several days later, young Pitch became the executioner's apprentice.

As from a dream, his consciousness resurfaced and he realized the fallen noble was waiting for his answer.

"Just- tell me how much you weight... if you know." The rope slipped from his sweaty grip. Pitch picked it up hastily and realized that his hands were shaking. He needed to focus, to calm himself! Giving in to temptation would mean eternal damnation.

There was to be no help from this horrid demon. His hands were tiny, warm from the humid air but soothingly dry. The palms stroked the backs of Pitch's hands. The skin was smooth from a life of luxury, and would feel delicious against his bare chest, down his hips, to cradle him in a way he'd denied himself...

"Are you alright, sir?" Sanderson asked quietly. Beneath the odor of stale sweat and fear, he smelled sweetly of honeysuckle.

He snatched his hands away. "Yes! I'm fine! Don't touch me-" Why was he feeling those sinful urges so strongly, why couldn't he fight with that animal instinct?? He had lead such a decent life ever since, banishing all thoughts of lust, why were they assaulting him now? Why was his chest growing warmer but pleasantly so...? Pitch could barely breath. Was this heretic a witch as they claimed?

"Forgive me."

The lad looked down at his small, bare feet, which were caked in filth and blood. Criminals of morality were not kindly treated, with or without a confession. "I thought you were in pain."

With his hands held up and exposed, Sanderson backed away until there was a great deal of space between them. "I'm not contagious, sir, or seeking to destroy your soul or out to damn you, or whatever is being said about me now--" he paused with a short laugh. Tears glittered in his dark eyes. "--I was just being a decent human being, that's all." The prisoner dropped his hands. "You have suffered much and it pains me to see you so frightened. For what it's worth, I am deeply sorry for the agony you feel. Just trust in the Lord and he will heal your scars."

"How do you know if I've suffered or not?" Pitch questioned, voice shaking. It was true, if he wanted to be honest, he suffered every day and night, but it was the right thing, no? It cleansed his soul, it saved him from hell. "And why do you utter the Lord's name when you did nothing but go against His teachings...?" Bodily bliss was the Devil's way to corrupt the weak. Coupling was not meant to be fun, it was only acceptable when trying to bring a new life to the world.

"Your eyes are full of so much pain." Sanderson's voice dropped as he spoke, wavering too, but for likely a different reason. Pitch knew that expression as pity, and for once, the pity was directed at him. "You are like a death row prisoner yourself, a dead man walking simply because he has to. You wish to be a living corpse, so your heart has made itself cold, but it still craves the warmth of love and affection."

He took a step forward and held out his small hand. It was shaking too. "The Lord teaches us to love above all things. I love as He created me to, for to do anything else would be a lie in His name. A lie is God's name is still a lie."

Pitch swallowed hard. Seventeen years he spent repenting the sins he had committed, not giving in once, not touching neither another, nor himself inappropriately. And it was hard. It was hard, lonely and sad. Sometimes, he longed for a wife, somebody who would wait for him, talk to him, hold him in the cold, but he chose his occupation well - not many dared to look into his eyes that saw so much death. And he knew himself well. He was weak and fallible. One touch could lead to fatal mistakes, because a second and third was bound to follow.

"We are not forbidden to love," he said, keeping his hand at his side. "But you preached in favor of lust." He never carried out philosophical conversations before with a convict. Sometimes he talked to them, yes, but he never tried to understand their reasons. A creature as angelic as Lord Mansnoozie, how could he fall so low...?

He rolled a plump shoulder, looking more like an innocent child than a man doomed to the gallows. "We are supposed to celebrate our joys as well as our sorrows. What better way than to appreciate the few pleasures this life can offer? How else do we give our love to each other?"

Sanderson tilted his head and looked up into Pitch's eyes. There was a wisdom there that shouldn't have belonged to a blasphemer. "You have experienced physical love, no doubt. When it is love, not lust, do we not feel happiness and lightness in the act? To enjoy the body of the person we've pledged our heart to, and for them to enjoy ours in return, is it truly a failure of faith?" He bit his lower lip. "I have never thought so. Love is the most beautiful thing a human will ever experience, and love-making is the nearest a man will ever get to heaven while he lives."

"No! That is just fallacy, the Devil's making...!" Pitch took a step back. He hit the wall, draining strength from its cool solidity. "That lightness you speak of, pleasure- it's nothing but a sinful urge planted into us by evil! Love-making is only acceptable when a married couple wishes to have children. That is the only reason that justifies the act. It just ends in pain otherwise, anyway." He looked away, tears stinging his eyes. He tainted that girl and the boy tainted him. He never felt happier in his life than when he was in their arms, but it was not right.

"You will die because all that 'love' you dealt out. Was it worth it? I'm going to kill you tomorrow!"

His words never penetrated that calm. With his hands by his sides and his shoulders straight, chin tilted up with pride, eyes glittering in certainty, Pitch saw that he had managed only to strengthen the heretic's resolve.

"Yes."

Sanderson's small hands curled, gripping the sides of his prison garb and clutching it tight. He was scared, he had to be, yet he spoke with all the assuredness of the church officials that so damned him. "I have spent my life knowing no hate and fearing only the Lord. I have found joy in every breath I've taken. I have known happiness in His favor. He has chosen to call me home, and tomorrow, you will deliver me to Him." Finally, his mouth quivered. "How I wish you could know the freedom I feel! I wish you could know this joy, sir, in loving your life rather than merely accepting it. I wish you did not have to lie to your own soul to believe yourself in His favor."

Why did the words ring so true...? Why did they penetrate the calm of the soul, sending it into reeling, wailing for affection? All those seventeen years spent without a pair of arms around him, a smile meant for him turned into seventeen tons of cold hard stone and their weight suddenly crashed on Pitch's shoulders. The heretic spoke the truth. Half his life was spent feeling the noose around his neck and it got tighter every day. Sometimes, Pitch felt peace and his life seemed good, but more often than not, he felt nothing but restrains. He did not dare to touch, to look and when his body betrayed him, he prayed for forgiveness. He visited every sermon, hiding at the back and listening to the preachers' words about the Lord's love.

It made no sense. If the Lord loved him, why couldn't He just free him from his misery...?

"I've heard of your deeds," he whispered, trying to stay upright. His knees were shaking and his body was growing unbearably hot. The heretic was one of the loveliest people he had ever laid eyes upon. "You tempted young men and women into giving in to their bodies' instincts. You told them it was alright to love and not marry and it is right to love a spouse just because it feels good. Facing death, you still claim it's right? You still claim we can live with a clear conscience when we give in to temptation? Giving in breeds yearning only, craving the forbidden fruit and it'd all end in excess!"

"He did not give us companions to love, just for us to be afraid of them instead."

The wretch took a few bold steps forward and took the rope from Pitch's hands. After regarding it for a moment, he set it aside, then reached out to take his executioner by the wrists. It would be an easy feat for him to take the keys from Pitch's hip and flee; Aster would be too tired to give chase, and there were horses tied in the courtyard that could carry this lad to freedom.

"Love is not a gift of man, but of God. To be able to share it is a blessing." He pulled, bringing Pitch Black to eye level, then rested his warm hands on both cheeks. "To be loved in return is a blessing too. Excess is indeed a sin, so we must give of our hearts until there is nothing left."

"You are the devil's agent, no matter how you claim to love the Lord..." Pitch mumbled. He did not move to cover the keys. "They don't condemn you for saying people should love, but because you say they should revel in pleasure...! My body gives me nothing but pain, everyone I shared myself with have died for it and tomorrow you will die, too...! Your body will burn, golden hair turning to ash and your eyes will never behold another sunrise..." Tears were rolling down his face. His heart was breaking.

Those cursed hands brushed over his cheeks, fingers dusting the tears away until they became too much for even two hands to manage. Then the kisses began, soft and slow, mopping away the hot drops that needed so badly to fall. "I would rather die tomorrow than spend the next hundred years without a kiss or a touch."

When his mouth landed next, it was against Pitch's. "And your lovers felt the same," he whispered, so low that Heaven itself would strain to hear, "To have known you, to have seen your smile, touched your body, kissed your mouth, to have held you.. No matter what the cost, I am certain that they never regretted loving you. So don't rue what you felt, my angel."

He remembered.

He remembered the girl waiting for him hiding in the bushes despite being banished from the village, tattered scarf hiding her shaven head and still asking if he was alright.

He remembered the injuries on the boy' body, the cuts on his lip, the bruise on his cheeks. He knew they questioned him, asking for the names of his lovers. He gave them none.

His hands rose and curled around the plump body, fingers fisting into the rough shirt. His heart was melting from just that single word, just by this tiny gift of affection. "I don't w-want you to die-" Pitch whispered. "Not tomorrow. Not like this..."

Small arms curled around the back of his neck, slipping fingers into his sweat-dampened hair. He stroked gently, soothingly, as his mouth fell to Pitch's over and over again. "I don't want to die either," he murmured. His cheeks were getting wet too, and for the first time, Kozmotis saw how afraid this tiny man truly was, "If I run now, no one will believe that I was certain of my faith. I will not cower from the gallows, when there are so many like you," Sanderson paused to kiss him again, a little deeper this time, "Who are so afraid to love one another."

Seldom did these walls witness such bravery. Pitch was awed and humbled. He couldn't stop himself from pulling the fallen lord closer - he felt so wonderful in his arms, all soft and warm - and kissing back, still uncertain and clumsy, for spending an entire life in terror of trying. The weight on his shoulders started to lift by some miracle.

He was not giving in. This was just a last act of kindness, he told himself. He was good at ignoring his body; he could do it again.

If there was any room for improvement, Sanderson wasn't going to say anything. Pitch's awkward kisses were met with slow, loving patience, the heat and desperation in one tempered by the coolness of the other.

It didn't seem lewd or shameful, but rather, it seemed just right. Even with their tongues stroking one another, there was no mind-clouding frenzy. He'd never felt such clarity in his life.

The muted kisses broke but for a moment, Sanderson Mansnoozie's lips trailing to his jaw as if he intended to taste every inch of the death-bringer's skin. "Will you allow me to love you just this once?"

The daze that settled cleared up when the most inappropriate image suddenly sprang into his mind. Pitch pulled back with a gasp, eyes wide with fright. "L-love me...? How?" Like a terrified animal or a scared child, he pressed his back against the wall, tensing up.

Sanderson looked stunned for a moment, then held his hands up in that familiar gesture of surrender. "I wish to hold and touch you," he explained, never raising his voice, "And if you allow it, let me bring you to release."

The pale face flared up with red and Pitch looked away. He still remembered how the blue-eyed boy did that even though it's been seventeen years. His hands were swift, sure and cool. But Lord Mansnoozie's hands would be different, slow, gentle and warm... He had to swallow and press his thighs together because his manhood twitched just by the thought.

"You can- hold me..." he said quietly and before he knew what he was doing, he reached out for the other, yearning to feel another living being in his arms.

That was enough for him, for the little prisoner slid across the floor and against his chest like he belonged there. He fit perfectly. Pitch buried his face in the dirtied golden hair and inhaled, while in his arms, Sanderson planted soft, patient kisses over his chest and neck.

Not demanding. Not violent. Not warped or depraved or disgusting. Just kisses, one after the other, falling across his dark shirt and occasionally gracing his throat. "Let it go," whispered his tormentor, small hands pulling his chin so they could speak secrets to one another's lips, "It's safe here. Let your heart heal."

"My heart..." mouthed Pitch. "How could my heart heal when I'm just losing everything...?" He pressed his lips against Sanderson's, desperate to taste that clean, sweet flavor lingering on that small tongue. His hands moved by themselves, mapping out curves as if he had a woman in his arms. The golden hair was so silky. The flawless skin was so smooth. He didn't even notice when his questing fingers slipped under the shirt and began to trace bare flesh.

The body shuddered under his hands. While it was flawless for the most part, he could feel welts along his back, where he'd no doubt received man's punishment for his transgressions. "Put your faith in God," he answered softly, dragging his tiny fingers across Pitch's chest. "We'll see one another again someday. You'll find your lovers there too."

Sanderson looked up at him, and with a small, watery smile, asked: "Can I look at you, too?"

After a moment of hesitation, Pitch nodded and discarded his sweat-stained shirt. The heat was still intense. His own chest was smooth as well but just above his navel, a thin trail of dark hairs started and disappeared beneath the waistline of his trousers. He had a few birthmarks and a long-healed wound on his right shoulder. His nipples were hard, a dark dusty pink.

Sanderson followed, tugging the loose fabric over his head. He was bruised and beaten, but underneath the black and blue, his skin was a rich shade of gold. He was deliciously plump, and when Pitch pressed his hands against him, he felt nothing but silk. He was hairless, too, so much like a little cupid.

But his mouth was dangerous. It settled around one nipple, hands at Pitch's hips, and with lascivious sucking sounds, Sanderson guided the two of them to lay facing one another on the floor.

No matter how he tried to hide, Pitch's erection was quite obvious by now. He squirmed a little but didn't try to stop Sanderson; his nipples hardened further from the attention and it felt good, so good! He had no idea a man's nipples could be sensitive like that. A sudden burst of curiosity pushed him into caressing one of the other's nipples to see if there was a reaction. Sanderson's chest was soft like everything else on him and Pitch had to admit that he found it attractive.

The tiny nubs hardened nicely, budding between Pitch's long fingers. "Hnn.."

With his face flushed and his eyes glistening, Sanderson switched between both of Pitch's nipples, paying them the sort of luxurious attention he'd only dreamed about in his darkest times.

And then his hand wandered down, tracing the shape of his manhood through the dark breeches. "Are you going to let me see this too..?"

The pain that shot through him wrung a moan from his throat. Long legs pressed together but they did nothing to hide the twitching erection - it was almost trying to arch up into Sanderson's touch.

Pitch pressed a hand against his lips to keep himself from crying out. The pleasure, first from his nipples and now from his lower body have clouded his mind and set his blood on fire. Seventeen years of abstinence didn't make it easy to resist. He wanted to rip off his clothes and rub all over that soft body but of course, he couldn't do that. He just nodded and undid the fastenings on his trousers himself, freeing his penis from the tight confines. It stood up proudly, long and darkened with blood.

"I wish we had more time.."

Gentle, loving hands wrapped around him, shooing his own hands away from his prick. "I want to hear your voice." Raising his eyes to Pitch, his half-nude little prisoner began to stroke him nice and slow. "I'd want to make love to you properly. I want to see your face when you come undone, I want to hear you crying my name--" He planted a kiss to the head. "--I want to make up for all you've lost.."

"Just love me now," Pitch moaned. "Just once before my heart stops beating in time with yours." He looked back, fresh tears forming in his eyes. "I found you and tomorrow-" His voice broke. "Why is the Lord testing me like this...? Showing you to me and making my heart burst... It's been seventeen years somebody last smiled at me, and they're the one I have to-" He buried his face into his hands. "I can't take it... I'm going to die...!"

Sanderson leaned in, rolling the both of them around until he was perched between Pitch's spread legs. Then the kisses came again, gently stroking his unhappy mouth and peppering delicate murmurs across to his cheeks.

"Please, sir, be brave for me." He slid up so they could lay flush together, soft chest to Pitch's hard one. Cradling his face, Sanderson looked down into his tear-filled eyes. "I am afraid of the pain that awaits me tomorrow, so please.. be my strength."

"There will be no pain," Pitch promised immediately, holding the young noble close and nuzzling his soft hair. "I promise you that. It'll be over in a moment." His tears didn't want to stop. "Don't be afraid, my lord. I will-" He swallowed. "I will stand beside you." He gently caressed the abused back. "I'll pray for you."

Head bobbing, he leaned in for one more kiss. "I'm glad you came for me.."

He nestled down underneath Pitch's chin, eyelashes tickling his skin as he reached down to slip his small hand around the center of his member. The strokes were slow and so, so careful, tender over the head and under his balls. "You feel so good.."

"Ooh-" His eyes drifted shut and Pitch's head knocked against the floor. "That... that feels good, too... Hn!" The intense sensations were back again, the pleasure slowly creeping up on him, clouding his thoughts.

"Don't do this to yourself again," he chided tenderly, drawing his hand up and over the tip, then smearing the salty essence down the protruding vein. "Promise me that even after this--" Sanderson paused, gently sucking away a thick, delicious drop from Pitch's slit, "--you'll find someone to love."

"A woman, perhaps.." The stroking began anew, harder this time. "Make love to her every night."

Pitch blushed again, even deeper. As if in a dream, he reached out to cup the angelic face, stroking the plump cheek with his thumb. "You tell that to me? You, the one I-" He swallowed and let his head fall back, moaning softly.

"Yes..." He leaned in, petal-soft mouth puckering to kiss the palm of Pitch's hand. Little fingers danced back and forth over the arch of his cock, coaxing him to get a small taste of paradise. "I know I love you, my angel. I'd want nothing more."

"Then so be it."

It was all but a blur after that. Those tiny fingers made him feel like never before, their careful touch chasing Pitch into ecstasy. His muscles tensed up and his thighs quivered, fingernails scratching the stone floor and he couldn't keep down his moans as the peak drew closer. It built gradually, then it passed a point and escalated rapidly, making him pant and gasp and unable to say anything. His eyes opened wide and he had to clamp both hands over his mouth to not alert Aster with his howling as he came. His body almost cramped up and the world before his eyes went white as his seed shot out, his balls tightening almost painfully. He spurted wave after wave over his own stomach and chest, almost sobbing from the wonderful release.

And all the while, he heard nothing but praise. He was handsome. He was strong. He was wanted. He was desired. He was loved.

He was loved.

The grip around him relaxed, helping to urge the remnants of his seed from his neglected manhood. "It's alright," Sanderson murmured, kissing him after removing his hand from the exhausted cock, "You did so well.."

"P-Pitch," he breathed. "My name... is Pitch Black." He kissed back, finally letting himself relax. The burden from his shoulders vanished; he felt light. He felt free.

"Thank you and forgive me. You are an angel, too dear for this world. Come back at a better time and teach us to love. Maybe we'll listen then."

\----------------------------------------

They stepped from their safe haven into hell.

Shackled and bleary-eyed from being jerked from a fitful sleep, Sanderson Mansnoozie was shoved out into a jeering crowd like he was some murderer. They pulled his hair, slapped his face, spat and screamed obscenities as the guards shoved him up the steps to the gallows.

The sky above roared over them, yet their shouting didn't cease until the crier climbed up beside him. "Sanderson Mansnoozie, you have been convicted of the crimes of heresy, blasphemy, sodomy, and other sins against the Lord our Father."

Again, the crowds' cheers were drowned out by the rolling thunder. Sanderson's face was dry, impassive, and he stared straight ahead.

"For these crimes, you have been sentenced to hang by the neck until dead. Does the convicted have any last words?"

Pitch was certain his small voice would be covered by more jeering and cursing, but for once, there was only silence. With all the grace of a king, Sanderson raised his chin and spoke out: "I have lived my life without any regrets. I have loved and been loved, and I know that I am right with the Lord."

Only Pitch was looking close enough to see that his hands were clenched tight, shaking. "I hope that you will know happiness in this life, and I hope I will see you in Heaven."

The dark sky above rolled, cool wind whipping the clouds over the sun. A single droplet of rain burst atop the tip of Sanderson's nose.

"The prisoner's sentence will be carried out immediately. Will the executioner approach."

It was just like the first time he ever did it. Pitch walked closer, wind pulling at his dark robe and hood. His knees were trembling and his head was spinning. He could barely maintain a professional, solemn image as he hooked the noose around the convict's neck. Sanderson even helped him, tipping his chin up, so the rope rested at the right place. Pitch was true to his word. He took precautions that the young nobles' neck would snap instead of the noose merely tightening around it, condemning him to slow suffocation.

Finding the lever with his unsteady hand was muscle memory by now - the first time he executed somebody, it was sheer dumb luck he didn't trip on anything.

His face was obscured but from the shadow of his hood, he was watching Sanderson. He was afraid. And still so proud, wishing those who hated him nothing but well. Pitch's teeth chattered. He clenched his jaw.

The jeering began again, but it was subdued now. There were tear-drenched faces in the crowd, murmurs rolling up over the shouts.

But louder than the thunder above was Sanderson's words to him:

"Let me go."

Sanderson tilted his head toward his executioner, and one last time, he smiled. "Set me free."

Pitch exhaled. He watched the young noble turn his head back from him and close his eyes, still smiling.

And he did what was asked of him.

The thunder roared above and rain began to fall, like tears from the sky. The crowd began to disperse, but Pitch remained for a while, praying for the man who loved him and the man whom he loved.

\----------------------------------------

"'Tis a queer sort o' thing."

"Hm."

It was a cool morning, the air crisp and clean with the promise of a beautiful autumn day. The rains had been plenty since the day Sanderson Mansnoozie drew his last breath. It was fitting, too, as change was palpable. There was fighting in the church, with the flocks unhappy and crying out for tolerance, love, and peace.

"This isn't about the weather again, is it?"

Aster spat, leaning up against his shovel. The earth took in the metal easily, black and soft as silk. "Nay. Speakin' of that lad."

His heart shuddered to a halt. "What about him."

"They still ain't found the body."

"Hm."

"Church officials been lookin' 'round here."

"Hm."

"Don' s'ppose they'll find 'im, now. They were raisin' hell 'bout it, said a heretic don' deserve to have a chance at even purgatory."

Pitch Black felt the corner of his mouth quirk up, as he slid his fingertips over the locket around his neck. It was a subtle thing, made of gold and set with a tiny, brilliant opal. "They don't have a say in it anymore."

Aster gave a short laugh. "I s'ppose not." After spitting once more, and wiping his brow with the back of his arm, he began to dig again. "I like to think he's gotten a prop'r burial, an' he's visited by someone who loves him."

Above them, the sky rumbled again with rain. Pitch nudged his undertaker with his elbow: "I think you might be right, Aster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late addition: We decided to restructure this work a little. This last chapter concludes the first part of the story - but the fun doesn't end here! We're just trying to keep the tags at bay. More fragments of the tapestry of Dreams will be revealed soon. See you wonderful readers in Facets II!


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